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Lucy  Ashton 


A 


THE  WAVERLEY  NOVELS 

BY 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT  Bart. 

VOLUME  X 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


"gash 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


undergrade 

UBRARX 


iYV 

V 


$ 


;  ■ 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Lucy  Ashton  [see  page  26] . 

“  *  Request  nothing  of  me,  my  Lord,  I  am  the 


Frontispiece 


Master  of  Ravenswood 1 

\ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  .... 
Miss  Ashton  refuses  the  huntsman’s  knife 


.  Facing  page  46 

88 


«( 


ft 


a 


92 


“  minister  interposed,  both  by  voice  and 
action  ” .  « 

|  I 

“  Engaged  in  marking  the  various  changes 
which  had  taken  place” . « 

The  Marquis  introduces  his  cousin  to  Lady 
Ashton .  « 

The  Fire  at  Wolf’s  Crag . « 

Now  choose,’  said  Ravenswood,  drawing 
his  sword  ” .  « 


“  126 

“  166 

“  210 
“  238 

“  290 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF 

LAMMERMOOR 


THE  Author,  on  a  former  occasion,1  declined  giving  the 
real  source  from  which  he  drew  the  tragic  subject  of  this 
history,  because,  though  occurring  at  a  distant  period,  it 
might  possibly  be  unpleasing  to  the  feelings  of  the  descendants  of 
the  parties.  But  as  he  finds  an  account  of  the  circumstances 
given  in  the  Notes  to  Law’s  Memorials ,2  by  his  ingenious  friend, 
Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  Esq.,  and  also  indicated  in  his  re¬ 
print  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Symson’s  poems  appended  to  the  De¬ 
scription  of  Galloway ,  as  the  original  of  the  Bride  of  Lammer- 
moor ,  the  Author  feels  himself  now  at  liberty  to  tell  the  tale  as 
he  had  it  from  connexions  of  his  own,  who  lived  very  near  the 
period,  and  were  closely  related  to  the  family  of  the  bride. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  family  of  Dalrymple,  which  has 
produced,  within  the  space  of  two  centuries,  as  many  men  of 
talent,  civil  and  military,  and  of  literary,  political,  and  profes¬ 
sional  eminence,  as  any  house  in  Scotland,  first  rose  into 
distinction  in  the  person  of  James  Dalrymple,  one  of  the  most 
eminent  lawyers  that  ever  lived,  though  the  labours  of  his 
powerful  mind  were  unhappily  exercised  on  a  subject  so  limited 
as  Scottish  jurisprudence,  on  which  he  has  composed  an  admi¬ 
rable  work. 

He  married  Margaret,  daughter  to  Ross  of  Balniel,  with  whom 
he  obtained  a  considerable  estate.  She  was  an  able,  politic,  and 
high-minded  woman,  so  successful  in  what  she  undertook,  that 
the  vulgar,  no  way  partial  to  her  husband  or  her  family,  imputed 
her  success  to  necromancy.  According  to  the  popular  belief, 


1  See  Introduction  to  the  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 

2  Law’s  Memorials,  p.  226. 


X 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


this  Dame  Margaret  purchased  the  temporal  prosperity  of  her 
family  from  the  Master  whom  she  served  under  a  singular  con¬ 
dition,  which  is  thus  narrated  by  the  historian  of  her  grandson, 
the  great  Earl  of  Stair  :  —  ‘  She  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  at  her 
death  desired  that  she  might  not  be  put  under  ground,  but  that 
her  coffin  should  be  placed  upright  on  one  end  of  it,  promising 
that  while  she  remained  in  that  situation  the  Dalrymples  should 
continue  in  prosperity.  What  was  the  old  lady’s  motive  for  such 
a  request,  or  whether  she  really  made  such  a  promise,  I  cannot 
take  upon  me  to  determine ;  but  it  is  certain  her  coffin  stands 
upright  in  the  isle  of  the  church  of  Kirkliston,  the  burial- 
place  of  the  family.’1  The  talents  of  this  accomplished  race 
were  sufficient  to  have  accounted  for  the  dignities  which  many 
members  of  the  family  attained,  without  any  supernatural 
assistance.  But  their  extraordinary  prosperity  was  attended 
by  some  equally  singular  family  misfortunes,  of  which  that 
which  befell  their  eldest  daughter  was  at  once  unaccountable 
and  melancholy. 

Miss  Janet  Dalrymple,  daughter  of  the  first  Lord  Stair  and 
DamWMar^TerRossrhad  engaged  herself  without  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  her  parents  to  the  Lord  Rutherford,  who  was  not  ac¬ 
ceptable  to  them  either  on  account  of  his  political  principles 
or  his  want  of  fortune.  The  young  couple  broke  a  piece  of  gold 
together,  and  pledged  their  troth  in  the  most  solemn  manner ; 
and  it  is  said  the  young  lady  imprecated  dreadful  evils  on  her¬ 
self  should  she  break  her  plighted  faith.  Shortly  after,  a  suitor 
who  was  favoured  by  Lord  Stair,  and  still  more  so  by  his  lady, 
paid  his  addresses  to  Miss  Dalrymple.  The  young  lady  refused 
the  proposal,  and  being  pressed  on  the  subject,  confessed  her 
secret  engagement.  Lady  Stair,  a  woman  accustomed  to  uni¬ 
versal  submission,  for  even  her  husband  did  not  dare  to  contra¬ 
dict  her,  treated  this  objection  as  a  trifle,  and  insisted  upon  her 
daughter  yielding  her  consent  to  marry  the  new  suitor,  David 
Dunbar,  son  and  heir  to  David  Dunbar  of  Baldoon,  in  Wigton- 
shire.  The  first  lover,  a  man  of  very  high  spirit,  then  interfered 
by  letter,  and  insisted  on  the  right  he  had  acquired  by  his  troth 
plighted  with  the  young  lady.  Lady  Stair  sent  him  for  answer, 
that  her  daughter,  sensible  of  her  undutiful  behaviour  in  enter¬ 
ing  into  a  contract  unsanctioned  by  her  parents,  had  retracted 
her  unlawful  vow,  and  now  refused  to  fulfil  her  engagement  with 
him. 


1  Memoirs  of  John  Earl  of  Stair, by  an  Impartial  Hand.  London,  printed 
for  C.  Cobbet,  p.  7. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


XI 


The  lover,  in  return,  declined  positively  to  receive  such  an 
answer  from  any  one  but  his  mistress  in  person ;  and  as  she  had 
to  deal  with  a  man  who  was  both  of  a  most  determined  character 
and  of  too  high  condition  to  be  trifled  with,  Lady  Stair  was 
obliged  to  consent  to  an  interview  between  Lord  Rutherford 
and  her  daughter.  But  she  took  care  to  be  present  in  person, 
and  argued  the  point  with  the  disappointed  and  incensed  lover 
with  pertinacity  equal  to  his  own.  She  particularly  insisted 
on  the  Levitical  law,  which  declares  that  a  woman  shall  be 
free  of  a  vow  which  her  parents  dissent  from.  This  is  the 
passage  of  Scripture  she  founded  on  :  — 

‘  If  a  man  vow  a  vow  unto  the  Lord,  or  swear  an  oath  to 
bind  his  soul  with  a  bond ;  he  shall  not  break  his  word,  he  shall 
do  according  to  all  that  proceedeth  out  of  his  mouth. 

‘  If  a  woman  also  vow  a  vow  unto  the  Lord,  and  bind  herself 
by  a  bond,  being  in  her  father’s  house  in  her  youth ; 

‘  And  her  father  hear  her  vow,  and  her  bond  wherewith  she 
hath  bound  her  soul,  and  her  father  shall  hold  his  peace  at  her: 
then  all  her  vows  shall  stand,  and  every  bond  wherewith  she 
hath  bound  her  soul  shall  stand. 

‘But  if  her  father  disallow  her  in  the  day  that  he  heareth ; 
not  any  of  her  vows,  or  of  her  bonds  wherewith  she  hath  bound 
her  soul,  shall  stand  :  and  the  Lord  shall  forgive  her,  because 
her  father  disallowed  her.’  —  Numbers  xxx.  2-5. 

While  the  mother  insisted  on  these  topics,  the  lover  in  vain 
conjured  the  daughter  to  declare  her  own  opinion  and  feel¬ 
ings.  She  remained  totally  overwhelmed,  as  it  seemed  —  mute, 
pale,  and  motionless  as  a  statue.  Only  at  her  mother’s  com¬ 
mand,  sternly  uttered,  she  summoned  strength  enough  to  re¬ 
store  to  her  plighted  suitor  the  piece  of  broken  gold  which 
was  the  emblem  of  her  troth.  On  this  he  burst  forth  into  a 
tremendous  passion,  took  leave  of  the  mother  with  maledic¬ 
tions,  and  as  he  left  the  apartment,  turned  back  to  say  to  his 
weak,  if  not  fickle,  mistress,  ‘For  you,  madam,  you  will  be  a 
world’s  wonder  ’ ;  a  phrase  by  which  some  remarkable  degree  of 
calamity  is  usually  implied.  He  went  abroad,  and  returned  not 
again.  If  the  last  Lord  Rutherford  was  the  unfortunate  party, 
he  must  have  been  the  third  who  bore  that  title,  and  who  died 
in  1685. 

The  marriage  betwixt  Janet  Dairy mple  and  David  Dunbar 
of  Baldoon  now  went  forward,  the  bride  showing  no  repugnance, 
but  being  absolutely  passive  in  everything  her  mother  com¬ 
manded  or  advised.  On  the  day  of  the  marriage,  which,  as  was 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


•  • 
xn 

then  usual,  was  celebrated  by  a  great  assemblage  of  friends  and 
relations,  she  was  the  same  —  sad,  silent,  and  resigned,  as  it 
seemed,  to  her  destiny.  A  lady,  very  nearly  connected  with 
the  family,  told  the  Author  that  she  bad  conversed  on  the 
subject  with  one  of  the  brothers  of  the  bride,  a  mere  lad  at 
the  time,  who  had  ridden  before  his  sister  to  church.  He 
said  her  hand,  which  lay  on  his  as  she  held  her  arm  round 
his  waist,  was  as  cold  and  damp  as  marble.  But,  full  of  his 
new  dress  and  the  part  he  acted  in  the  procession,  the  cir¬ 
cumstance,  which  he  long  afterwards  remembered  with  bitter 
sorrow  and  compunction,  made  no  impression  on  him  at  the 
time. 

The  bridal  feast  was  followed  by  dancing.  The  bride  and 
bridegroom  retired  as  usual,  when  of  a  sudden  the  most  wild 
and  piercing  cries  were  heard  from  the  nuptial  chamber.  It 
was  then  the  custom,  to  prevent  any  coarse  pleasantry  which 
old  times  perhaps  admitted,  that  the  key  of  the  nuptial  chamber 
should  be  entrusted  to  the  brideman.  He  was  called  upon, 
but  refused  at  first  to  give  it  up,  till  the  shrieks  became  so 
hideous  that  he  was  compelled  to  hasten  with  others  to  learn 
the  cause.  On  opening  the  door,  they  found  the  bridegroom 
lying  across  the  threshold,  dreadfully  wounded,  and  streaming 
with  blood.  The  bride  was  then  sought  for.  She  was  found 
in  the  corner  of  the  large  chimney,  having  no  covering  save  her 
shift,  and  that  dabbled  in  gore.  There  she  sat  grinning  at 
them,  mopping  and  mowing,  as  I  heard  the  expression  used ; 
in  a  word,  absolutely  insane.  The  only  words  she  spoke 
were,  ‘Tak  up  your  bonny  bridegroom/  She  survived  this 
horrible  scene  little  more  than  a  fortnight,  having  been  married 
on  the  24th  of  August,  and  dying  on  the  12th  of  September 
1669. 

The  unfortunate  Baldoon  recovered  from  his  wounds,  but 
sternly  prohibited  all  inquiries  respecting  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  received  them.  ‘If  a  lady,5  he  said,  ‘asked  him  any 
questions  upon  the  subject,  he  would  neither  answer  her  nor 
speak  to  her  again  while  he  lived ;  if  a  gentleman,  he  would 
consider  it  as  a  mortal  affront,  and  demand  satisfaction  as 
having  received  such/  He  did  not  very  long  survive  the 
dreadful  catastrophe,  having  met  with  a  fatal  injury  by  a 
fall  from  his  horse,  as  he  rode  between  Leith  and  Holyrood 
House,  of  which  he  died  the  next  day,  28th  March  1682. 
Thus  a  few  years  removed  all  the  principal  actors  in  this 
frightful  tragedy. 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD 

Series 


Hear,  Land  o’  Cakes  and  brither  Scots, 

Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnny  Groat’s, 

If  there’s  a  hole  in  a’  your  coats, 

I  rede  ye  tent  it ; 

A  chiel’s  aniang  you  takin’  notes, 

An’  faith  he’ll  prent  it ! 

Burns. 


Afiora  hien,  dixo  il  Cura ,  traedme,  senor  huisped,  aquesos  libros,  que 
los  qwiero  ver.  Que  me  place,  respondid  el,  y  entrando  en  su  aposento, 
sac6  del  una  maletilla  vieja  cerrada  con  una  cadenilla,  y  dbriendola  halls 
en  ella  tres  libros  grandcs  y  unos  papeles  de  muy  buena  letra  escritos  de 
mano.  —  Don  Quixote,  Parte  I.  Capitulo  xxxii. 

It  is  mighty  well,  said  the  priest  ;  pray,  landlord,  bring  me  those 
books,  for  I  have  a  mind  to  see  them.  With  all  my  heart,  answered  the 
host ;  and  going  to  his  chamber,  he  brought  out  a  little  old  cloke-bag, 
with  a  padlock  and  chain  to  it,  and  opening  it,  he  took  out  three  large 
volumes,  and  some  manuscript  papers  written  in  a  fine  character. — 
Jarvis’s  Translation . 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


xm 

Various  reports  went  abroad  on  this  mysterious  affair, 
many  of  them  very  inaccurate,  though  they  could  hardly 
be  said  to  be  exaggerated.  It  was  difficult  at  that  time 
to  become  acquainted  with  the  history  of  a  Scottish  family 
above  the  lower  rank;  and  strange  things  sometimes  took 
place  there,  into  which  even  the  law  did  not  scrupulously 
inquire. 

The  credulous  Mr.  Law  says,  generally,  that  the  Lord 
President  Stair  had  a  daughter,  who,  ‘being  married,  the 
night  she  was  bride  in  [that  is,  bedded  bride]  was  taken 
from  her  bridegroom  and  harled  [dragged]  through  the  house 
(by  spirits,  we  are  given  to  understand),  and  soon  afterwards 
died.  Another  daughter,’  he  says,  ‘  was  possessed  by  an  evil 
spirit.’ 

My  friend,  Mr.  Sharpe,  gives  another  edition  of  the  tale. 
According  to  his  information,  it  was  the  bridegroom  who 
wounded  the  bride.  The  marriage,  according  to  this  account, 
had  been  against  her  mother’s  inclination,  who  had  given  her 
consent  in  these  ominous  words:  ‘You  may  marry  him,  but 
soon  shall  you  repent  it.’ 

I  find  still  another  account  darkly  insinuated  in  some  highly 
scurrilous  and  abusive  verses,  of  which  I  have  an  original  copy. 
They  are  docketed  as  being  written  ‘  Upon  the  late  Viscount 
Stair  and  his  family,  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  of  Whitelaw.  The 
marginals  by  William  Dunlop,  writer  in  Edinburgh,  a  son  of 
the  Laird  of  Househill,  and  nephew  to  the  said  Sir  William 
Hamilton.’  There  was  a  bitter  and  personal  quarrel  and  rivalry 
betwixt  the  author  of  this  libel,  a  name  which  it  richly  de¬ 
serves,  and  Lord  President  Stair;  and  the  lampoon,  which  is 
written  with  much  more  malice  than  art,  bears  the  following 
motto  :  — 

Stair’s  nock,  mind,  wife,  sons,  grandson,  and  the  rest, 

Are  wry,  false,  witch,  pests,  parricide,  possessed. 

This  malignant  satirist,  who  calls  up  all  the  misfortunes  of  the 
family,  does  not  forget  the  fatal  bridal  of  Baldoon.  He  seems, 
though  his  verses  are  as  obscure  as  unpoetical,  to  intimate  that 
the  violence  done  to  the  bridegroom  was  by  the  intervention  of 
the  foul  fiend,  to  whom  the  young  lady  had  resigned  herself,  in 
case  she  should  break  her  contract  with  her  first  lover.  His 
hypothesis  is  inconsistent  with  the  account  given  in  themote 
upon  Law’s  Memorials ,  but  easily  reconcilable  to  the  family 
tradition. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


In  al  Stair’s  offspring  we  no  difference  know, 

They  doe  the  females  as  the  males  bestow ; 

So  he  of ’s  daughter’s  marriage  gave  the  ward, 

Like  a  true  vassal,  to  Glenluce’s  Laird  ; 

He  knew  what  she  did  to  her  suitor  plight, 

If  she  her  faith  to  Rutherfurd  should  slight, 

Which,  like  his  own,  for  greed  he  broke  outright. 

Nick  did  Baldoon’s  posterior  right  deride, 

And,  as  first  substitute,  did  seize  the  bride  ; 

Whate’er  he  to  his  mistress  did  or  said, 

He  threw  the  bridegroom  from  the  nuptial  bed, 

Into  the  chimney  did  so  his  rival  maul, 

His  bruised  bones  ne’er  were  cured  but  by  the  fall.1 

One  of  the  marginal  notes  ascribed  to  William  Dunlop  applies 
to  the  above  lines.  ‘  She  had  betrothed  herself  to  Lord  Ruther- 
foord  under  horrid  imprecations,  and  afterwards  married  Baldoon, 
his  nevoy,  and  her  mother  was  the  cause  of  her  breach  of  faith.’ 

The  same  tragedy  is  alluded  to  in  the  following  couplet  and 
note  :  — 

What  train  of  curses  that  base  brood  pursues, 

When  the  young  nephew  weds  old  uncle’s  spouse. 

The  note  on  the  word  ‘  uncle  ’  explains  it  as  meaning  *  Ruther- 
foord,  who  should  have  married  the  Lady  Baldoon,  was  Bal¬ 
doon’s  uncle.’  The  poetry  of  this  satire  on  Lord  Stair  and  his 
family  was,  as  already  noticed,  written  by  Sir  William  Hamilton 
of  Whitelaw,  a  rival  of  Lord  Stair  for  the  situation  of  President 
of  the  Court  of  Session ;  a  person  much  inferior  to  that  great 
lawyer  in  talents,  and  equally  ill-treated  by  the  calumny  or 
just  satire  of  his  contemporaries  as  an  unjust  and  partial  judge. 
Some  of  the  notes  are  by  that  curious  and  laborious  antiquary, 
Robert  Milne,  who,  as  a  virulent  Jacobite,  willingly  lent  a  hand 
to  blacken  the  family  of  Stair.2 

Another  poet  of  the  period,  with  a  very  different  purpose, 
has  left  an  elegy,  in  which  he  darkly  hints  at  and  bemoans  the 
fate  of  the  ill-starred  young  person,  whose  very  uncommon 
calamity  Whitelaw,  Dunlop,  and  Milne  thought  a  fitting  sub¬ 
ject  for  buffoonery  and  ribaldry.  This  bard  of  milder  mood 
was  Andrew  Symson,  before  the  Revolution  minister  of  Kirk- 
inner,  in  Galloway,  and  after  his  expulsion  as  an  Episcopalian 

1  The  fall  from  his  horse,  by  which  he  was  killed. 

2  T  have  compared  the  satire,  which  occurs  in  the  first  volume  of  the 
curious  little  collection  called  a  Book  of  Scottish  Pasquils,  1827,  with  that 
which  has  a  more  full  text  and  more  extended  notes,  and  which  is  in  my 
own  possession,  by  gift  of  Thomas  Thomson,  Esq.,  Register-Depute.  In  the 
second  Book  of  Pasquils,  p.  72,  is  a  most  abusive  epitaph  on  Sir  James 
Hamilton  of  Whitelaw. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


xv 


following  the  humble  occupation  of  a  printer  in  Edinburgh. 
He  furnished  the  family  of  Baldoon,  with  which  he  appears  to 
have  been  intimate,  with  an  elegy  on  the  tragic  event  in  their 
family.  In  this  piece  he  treats  the  mournful  occasion  of  the 
bride’s  death  with  mysterious  solemnity. 

The  verses  hear  this  title,  ‘  On  the  unexpected  death  of  the 
virtuous  Lady  Mrs.  Janet  Dalrymple,  Lady  Baldoon,  younger,’ 
and  afford  us  the  precise  dates  of  the  catastrophe,  which  could 
not  otherwise  have  been  easily  ascertained.  ‘  N upta  August 
12.  Domum  Ducta  August  24.  Obiit  September  12.  Sepult. 
September  30,  1669.’  The  form  of  the  elegy  is  a  dialogue  be¬ 
twixt  a  passenger  and  a  domestic  servant.  The  first,  recollect¬ 
ing  that  he  had  passed  that  way  lately,  and  seen  all  around 
enlivened  by  the  appearances  of  mirth  and  festivity,  is  desirous 
to  know  what  had  changed  so  gay  a  scene  into  mourning.  We 
preserve  the  reply  of  the  servant  as  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Symson’s 
verses,  which  are  not  of  the  first  quality  :  — 

Sir,  ’t  is  truth  you  ’ve  told. 

We  did  enjoy  great  mirth  ;  but  now,  ah  me  ! 

Our  joyful  song’s  turn’d  to  an  elegie. 

A  virtuous  lady,  not  long  since  a  bride, 

Was  to  a  hopeful  plant  by  marriage  tied, 

And  brought  home  hither.  We  did  all  rejoice, 

Even  for  her  sake.  But  presently  our  voice 
Was  turn’d  to  mourning  for  that  little  time 
That  she ’d  enjoy  :  she  waned  in  her  prime, 

For  Atropos,  with  her  impartial  knife, 

Soon  cut  her  thread,  and  therewithal  her  life  j 
And  for  the  time  we  may  it  well  remember, 

It  being  in  unfortunate  September  ; 

Where  we  must  leave  her  till  the  resurrection, 

’T  is  then  the  Saints  enjoy  their  full  perfection.1 

Mr.  Symson  also  poured  forth  his  elegiac  strains  upon  the 
fate  of  the  widowed  bridegroom,  on  which  subject,  after  a  long 
and  querulous  effusion,  the  poet  arrives  at  the  sound  conclusion, 
that  if  Baldoon  had  walked  on  foot,  which  it  seems  was  his 
general  custom,  he  would  have  escaped  perishing  by  a  fall  from 
horseback.  As  the  work  in  which  it  occurs  is  so  scarce  as 
almost  to  be  unique,  and  as  it  gives  us  the  most  full  account 


1  This  elegy  is  reprinted  in  the  appendix  to  a  topographical  work  by  the 
same  author,  entitled  A  Large  Description  of  Galloway,  by  Andrew  Symson, 
Minister  of  Kirkinner,  8vo,  Taits,  Edinburgh,  1823.  The  reverend  gentle¬ 
man’s  elegies  are  extremely  rare,  nor  did  the  Author  ever  see  a  copy  but 
his  own,  which  is  bound  up  with  the  Tripatriarchicon,  a  religious  poem 
from  the  Biblical  History,  by  the  same  author. 


\ 


xvi 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


of  one  of  the  actors  in  this  tragic  tale  which  we  have  rehearsed, 
we  will,  at  the  risk  of  being  tedious,  insert  some  short  specimens 
of  Mr.  Symson’s  composition.  It  is  entitled  — 

‘  A  Funeral  Elegie,  occasioned  by  the  sad  and  much  lamented 
death  of  that  worthily  respected,  and  very  much  accomplished 
gentleman,  David  Dunbar,  younger,  of  Baldoon,  only  son  and 
apparent  heir  to  the  right  worshipful  Sir  David  Dunbar  of 
Baldoon,  Knight  Baronet.  He  departed  this  life  on  March  28, 
1682,  having  received  a  bruise  by  a  fall,  as  he  was  riding  the 
day  preceding  betwixt  Leith  and  Holyrood  House  ;  and  was 
honourably  interred  in  the  Abbey  Church  of  Holyrood  House, 
on  April  4,  1682/ 

Men  might,  and  very  justly  too,  conclude 
Me  guilty  of  the  worst  ingratitude, 

Should  I  be  silent,  or  should  I  forbear 
At  this  sad  accident  to  shed  a  tear  ; 

A  tear  !  said  I  ?  ah  !  that ’s  a  petit  thing, 

A  very  lean,  slight,  slender  offering, 

Too  mean,  I  ’in  sure,  for  me,  wherewith  t’ attend 
The  unexpected  funeral  of  my  friend  : 

A  glass  of  briny  tears  charged  up  to  th’  brim, 

Would  be  too  few  for  me  to  shed  for  him. 

The  poet  proceeds  to  state  his  intimacy  with  the  deceased, 
and  the  constancy  of  the  young  man’s  attendance  on  public 
worship,  which  was  regular,  and  had  such  effect  upon  two  or 
three  others  that  were  influenced  by  his  example, 


So  that  my  Muse  ’gainst  Priscian  avers, 
He,  only  he,  were  my  parishioners  ; 
Yea,  and  my  only  hearers. 


He  then  describes  the  deceased  in  person  and  manners,  from 
which  it  appears  that  more  accomplishments  were  expected  in 
the  composition  of  a  fine  gentleman  in  ancient  than  modem 
times  : 

His  body,  though  not  very  large  or  tall, 

Was  sprightly,  active,  yea  and  strong  withal. 

His  constitution  was,  if  right  I ’ve  guess’d, 

Blood  mixt  with  choler,  said  to  be  the  best. 

In ’s  gesture,  converse,  speech,  discourse,  attire, 

He  practis’d  that  which  wise  men  still  admire, 

Commend,  and  recommend.  What ’s  that  ?  you’ll  say. 

’Tis  this  :  he  ever  choos’d  the  middle  way 
’Twixt  both  th’  extremes.  Almost  in  ev’ry  thing 
He  did  the  like,  ’t  is  worth  our  noticing  : 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


xvii 


Sparing,  yet  not  a  niggard  ;  liberal, 

And  yet  not  lavish  or  a  prodigal, 

As  knowing  when  to  spend  and  when  to  spare ; 

And  that ’s  a  lesson  which  not  many  are 
Acquainted  with.  He  bashful  was,  yet  daring 
When  he  saw  cause,  and  yet  therein  but  sparing  ; 
Familiar,  yet  not  common,  for  he  knew 
To  condescend,  and  keep  his  distance  too. 

He  us’d,  and  that  most  commonly,  to  go 
On  foot ;  I  wish  that  he  had  still  done  so. 

Th’  affairs  of  court  were  unto  him  well  known  ; 

And  yet  meanwhile  he  slighted  not  his  own. 

He  knew  full  wTell  how  to  behave  at  court, 

And  yet  but  seldom  did  thereto  resort ; 

But  lov’d  the  country  life,  choos’d  to  inure 
Himself  to  past’rage  and  agriculture  ; 

Proving,  improving,  ditching,  trenching,  draining, 
Viewing,  reviewing,  and  by  those  means  gaining  ; 
Planting,  transplanting,  levelling,  erecting 
Walls,  chambers,  houses,  terraces  ;  projecting 
Now  this,  now  that  device,  this  draught,  that  measure, 
That  might  advance  his  profit  with  his  pleasure. 

Quick  in  his  bargains,  honest  in  commerce, 

Just  in  his  dealings,  being  much  averse 
From  quirks  of  law,  still  ready  to  refer 
His  cause  t’  an  honest  country  arbiter. 

He  was  acquainted  with  cosmography, 

Arithmetic,  and  modern  history  ; 

With  architecture  and  such  arts  as  these, 

Which  I  may  call  specifick  sciences 
Fit  for  a  gentleman ;  and  surely  he 
That  knows  them  not,  at  least  in  some  degree, 

May  brook  the  title,  but  he  wants  the  thing, 

Is  but  a  shadow  scarce  worth  noticing. 

He  learned  the  French,  be ’t  spoken  to  his  praise, 

In  very  little  more  than  fourty  days.’ 


Then  comes  the  full  burst  of  woe,  in  which,  instead  of  saying 
much  himself,  the  poet  informs  us  what  the  ancients  would 
have  said  on  such  an  occasion  : 


A  heathen  poet,  at  the  news,  no  doubt, 

Would  have  exclaimed,  and  furiously  cry’d  out 
Against  the  fates,  the  destinies  and  starrs, 

What  !  this  the  effect  of  planetarie  warrs  ! 

We  might  have  seen  him  rage  and  rave,  yea  worse, 
’T  is  very  like  we  might  have  heard  him  curse 
The  year,  the  month,  the  day,  the  hour,  the  place, 
The  company,  the  wager,  and  the  race  ; 

Decry  all  recreations,  with  the  names 
Of  Isthmian,  Pythian,  and  Olympick  games ; 
Exclaim  against  them  all  both  old  and  new, 

Both  the  Nemsean  and  the  Lethsean  too  : 

VOL.  viii  —  6 


xviii  INTRODUCTION  TO 

Adjudge  all  persons,  under  highest  pain, 

Always  to  walk  on  foot,  and  then  again 
Order  all  horses  to  be  hough’d,  that  we 
Might  never  more  the  like  adventure  see. 

Supposing  our  readers  have  had  enough  of  Mr.  Symson’s 
verses,  and  finding  nothing  more  in  his  poem  worthy  of  tran¬ 
scription,  we  turn  to  the  tragic  story. 

It  is  needless  to  point  out  to  the  intelligent  reader  that  the 
witchcraft  of  the  mother  consisted  only  in  the  ascendency  of  a 
powerful  mind  over  a  weak  and  melancholy  one,  and  that  the 
harshness  with  which  she  exercised  her  superiority  in  a  case  of 
delicacy  had  driven  her  daughter  first  to  despair,  then  to 
frenzy.  Accordingly,  the  Author  has  endeavoured  to  explain 
the  tragic  tale  on  this  principle.  Whatever  resemblance  Lady 
Ashton  may  be  supposed  to  possess  to  the  celebrated  Dame 
Margaret  Ross,  the  reader  must  not  suppose  that  there  was 
any  idea  of  tracing  the  portrait  of  the  first  Lord  Viscount  Stair 
in  the  tricky  and  mean-spirited  Sir  William  Ashton.  Lord 
Stair,  whatever  might  be  his  moral  qualities,  was  certainly  one 
of  the  first  statesmen  and  lawyers  of  his  age. 

The  imaginary  castle  of  Wolfs  Crag  has  been  identified  by 
some  lover  of  locality  with  that  of  Fast  Castle.  The  Author  is 
not  competent  to  judge  of  the  resemblance  betwixt  the  real 
and  imaginary  scene,  having  never  seen  Fast  Castle  except 
from  the  sea.  But  fortalices  of  this  description  are  found 
occupying,  like  ospreys’  nests,  projecting  rocks,  or  promon¬ 
tories,  in  many  parts  of  the  eastern  coast  of  Scotland,  and 
the  position  of  Fast  Castle  seems  certainly  to  resemble  that  of 
Wolfs  Crag  as  much  as  any  other,  while  its  vicinity  to  the 
mountain  ridge  of  Lammermoor  renders  the  assimilation  a 
probable  one. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  death  of  the  unfortunate 
bridegroom  by  a  fall  from  horseback  has  been  in  the  novel 
transferred  to  the  no  less  unfortunate  lover. 


It  seems  proper  to  append  to  the  Author’s  Introduction 
a  letter  concerning  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  addressed,  in 
1823,  to  the  late  Sir  James  Stewart  Denham,  of  Coltness,  by 
his  relation,  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple  Horne  Elphinstone,  of  Logie 
Elphinstone.  These  baronets  were  both  connected  in  blood 
with  the  unfortunate  heroine  of  the  romance.  The  letter  was 
first  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Evening  Post  for  October  10, 
1840. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


xix 


To  General  Sir  James  Stewart  Denham,  Bart. 

September  5,  1823. 

My  Dear  Sir  James, — Various  circumstances*  have  oc¬ 
curred  which  have  unavoidably  prevented  my  returning  an 
earlier  answer  to  your  queries  regarding  our  unfortunate  rela¬ 
tive —  ‘The  Bride  of  Lammermoor.’  I  shall  now  have  much 
pleasure  in  complying  with  your  wishes,  in  as  far  as  an 
indifferent  memory  will  enable  me  to  do  so. 

‘  The  Bride  of  Baldoon ;  (for  such  has  always  been  her  des¬ 
ignation  in  our  family)  was  the  Honourable  Janet  Dalrymple, 
eldest  daughter  of  our  great-great-grandfather,  James  Viscount 
of  Stair,  Lord  President  of  the  Court  of  Session  in  the  reign 
of  William  and  Mary  ;  sister  to  the  first  Earl  of  that  name, 
and  to  our  great-grandfather  the  Lord  President  Sir  Hugh  Dal¬ 
rymple  of  North  Berwick;  and  consequently  our  great-grand 
aunt. 

She  was  secretly  attached,  and  had  plighted  her  faith,  to  the 
Lord  Rutherford,  when,  under  the  auspices  of  her  mother,  a 
less  amiable,  but  much  more  opulent  suitor  appeared,  in  the 
person  of  David  Dunbar,  eldest  son  of  Sir  David  Dunbar  of 
Baldoon  (an  ancestor  of  the  Selkirk  family),  whose  addresses 
were,  as  may  be  supposed,  submitted  to  with  the  greatest  aver¬ 
sion,  from  their  being  ungenerously  persisted  in  after  his  being 
informed  of  her  early  attachment  and  solemn  engagement. 
To  this  man,  however,  she  was  ultimately  forced  to  give  her 
hand. 

The  result  of  this  cruel  and  unnatural  sacrifice  was  nearly, 
if  not  exactly,  as  related  by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  On  the  mar¬ 
riage  night,  soon  after  the  young  couple  were  left  alone,  violent 
and  continued  screams  were  heard  to  proceed  from  the  bridal- 
chamber,  and  on  the  door  (which  was  found  locked)  being 
forced  open,  the  bridegroom  was  found  extended  on  the  floor, 
stabbed  and  weltering  in  his  blood,  while  the  bride  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  large  fire-place,  in  a  state  of  the  most  deplorable 
frenzy,  which  continued  without  any  lucid  interval  until  the 
period  of  her  death.  She  survived  but  a  short  time,  during 
which  (with  the  exception  of  the  few  words  mentioned  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott —  ‘  Ye  hae  taen  up  your  bonny  bridegroom  ’)  she 
never  spoke,  and  refused  all  sustenance. 

The  conclusion  drawn  from  these  extraordinary  circum¬ 
stances,  and  which  seems  to  have  been  assumed  by  Sir  Walter 


XX 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


as  a  fact,  was,  that  the  forlorn  and  distracted  victim,  seeing  no 
other  means  of  escaping  from  a  fate  which  she  beheld  with  dis¬ 
gust  and  abhorrence,  had  in  a  fit  of  desperation  inflicted  the 
fatal  wound  upon  her  selfish  and  unfeeling  husband.  But,  in 
justice  to  the  memory  of  our  unhappy  relative,  we  may  be  per¬ 
mitted  to  regret  Sir  Walter’s  not  having  been  made  acquainted 
with  a  tradition  long  current  in  the  part  of  the  country  where 
the  tragical  event  took  place,  —  namely,  that  from  the  window 
having  been  found  open,  it  was  conjectured  that  the  lover  had, 
during  the  bustle  and  confusion  occasioned  by  the  preparations 
for  the  marriage  feast,  and  perhaps  by  the  connivance  of  some 
servant  of  the  family,  contrived  to  gain  admission  and  to  secrete 
himself  in  the  bridal  chamber,  from  whence  he  had  made  his 
escape  into  the  garden,  after  having  fought  with  and  severely 
wounded  his  successful  rival  —  a  conclusion  strengthened  by 
other  concurring  circumstances,  and  rendered  more  probable 
by  the  fact  of  young  Baldoon  having,  to  his  latest  breath, 
obstinately  refused  to  give  any  explanation  on  the  subject, 
and  which  might  well  justify  a  belief  that  he  was  actuated 
by  a  desire  of  concealing  the  particulars  of  a  rencontre,  the 
causes  and  consequences  of  which  he  might  justly  consider  as 
equally  discreditable  to  himself.  The  unfortunate  lover  was 
said  to  have  disappeared  immediately  after  the  catastrophe  in 
a  manner  somewhat  mysterious  ;  but  this  part  of  the  story  has 
escaped  my  recollection. 

While  on  the  subject  of  this  calamitous  event,  I  cannot  help 
offering  some  observations  on  the  principal  personages  intro¬ 
duced  in  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  narrative,  all  of  whom  are  more  or 
less  interesting  both  to  you  and  me. 

The  character  of  Sir  William  Ashton  certainly  cannot  be 
considered  as  a  fair  representation  of  our  eminent  and  respect¬ 
able  ancestor  Lord  Stair,  to  whom  he  bears  little  resemblance, 
either  as  a  poRticTan”or  a  gentleman;  and  Sir  Walter  would 
seem  wishful  to  avoid  the  application,  when  he  says  that,  on 
acquiring  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Lords  of  Ravenswood,  Sir 
William  had  removed  certain  old  family  portraits  and  replaced 
them  by  ‘those  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary,  and  of  Sir 
Thomas  Hope  and  Lord  Stair,  two  distinguished  Scots  lawyers ;  ’ 
but  on  this  point  some  less  ambiguous  intimation  would  have 
been  very  desirable,  and  having  in  the  character  of  Lucy  Ashton 
stuck  so  closely  to  the  character  of  the  daughter,  the  Author 
should,  in  fairness,  have  been  at  more  pains  to  prevent  that  of 
the  Lord  Keeper  from  being  considered  as  an  equally  fair  repre- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


xxi 


sentation  of  the  father ;  an  omission  of  which  the  descendants 
of  Lord  Stair  have,  I  think,  some  reason  to  complain. 

In  Lady  Ashton,  the  character  of  our  great-great-grandmother 
seems  in  many  respects  more  faithfully  delineated,  or  at  least 
less  misrepresented.  She  was  an  ambitious  and  interested 
woman,  .of  a  masculine  character  and  understanding,  and  the 
transaction  regarding  her  daughter’s  marriage  was  believed  to 
have  been  hers,  and  not  her  husband’s,  who,  from  his  numerous 
important  avocations  as  Lord  President,  Privy  Councillor,  and 
active  assistant  in  the  management  of  Scottish  affairs,  had 
probably  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  take  much  personal 
concern  in  family  arrangements. 

The  situation  of  young  Raven  swond  bears  a  sufficiently  strong 
resemblance  to  that  of  the  Lord  Rutherford,  who  was  an  amiable 
and  high-spirited  young  man,  nobly  born  and  destitute  of  for¬ 
tune,  and  who,  if  the  above  account  is  to  be  credited,  as  to  the 
manner  and  place  in  which  he  thought  proper  to  chastise  his 
successful  rival,  seems  to  have  been  not  ill  cut  out  for  a  hero  of 
romance.  And  as  to  young  Baldoon,  of  whom  little  is  known 
beyond  what  has  been  related  above,  he  seems  to  have  a  more 
respectable  representation  than  deserved  in  the  person  of 
Bucklaw. 

The  story  was,  I  have  understood,  communicated  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott  by  our  worthy  friend,  the  late  Mrs.  Murray  Keith, 
who  seems  to  have  been  well  acquainted  with  all  the  particulars, 
excepting  those  to  which  I  have  more  especially  alluded  ;  which, 
as  a  friend  and  connexion  of  the  family,  had  she  known,  she 
would  not  have  failed  to  mention ;  and  in  as  far  as  his  informa¬ 
tion  went  (with  the  exception  of  his  having  changed  the  scene 
of  action  from  the  west  coast  to  the  east),  Sir  Walter  seems  to 
have  adhered  to  facts  as  closely  as  could  well  be  expected  in  a 
work  bearing  the  general  stamp  of  fiction.  But,  if  the  memory 
of  so  disastrous  and  distressing  a  family  anecdote  was  to  be 
preserved  and  handed  down  to  posterity  in  a  story  so  singularly 
affecting,  and  by  an  author  the  most  popular  of  our  own  or  any 
other  age,  while  it  was  surely  of  importance  to  avoid  any  such 
offensive  misrepresentation  of  character  as  that  to  which  I  have 
alluded,  it  was  at  the  same  time  much  to  be  lamented  that  the 
Author  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor  should  have  been  ignorant 
of  a  tradition  so  truly  worthy  of  credit;  throwing  so  much 
satisfactory  light  on  an  event  equally  tragical  and  mysterious, 
and  which,  while  a  judicious  management  of  the  circumstances 
might  have  increased  rather  than  diminished  the  interest  of 


XXII 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


the  narrative,  would  have  left  a  less  painful  impression  regard¬ 
ing  our  unhappy  and  unfortunate  relative,  ‘The  Bride  of 
Baldoon.’ 

With  best  regards  from  all  here,  to  you  and  Lady  Stewart, 

I  remain,  my  dear  Sir  James, 

Ever  most  truly  yours, 

Robert  Dalrymple  Horne  Elphinstone.] 


THE 


BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

CHAPTER  I 


By  cauk  and  keel  to  win  your  bread, 

Wi*  whigmaleeries  for  them  wha  need, 

Whilk  is  a  gentle  trade  indeed 

To  carry  the  gaberlunzie  on. 

Old  Song. 

FEW  have  been  in  my  secret  while  I  was  compiling  these 
narratives,  nor  is  it  probable  that  they  will  ever  become 
public  during  the  life  of  their  author.  Even  were  that 
event  to  happen,  I  am  not  ambitious  of  the  honoured  distinction, 
digito  monstrari .  I  confess  that,  were  it  safe  to  cherish  such 
dreams  at  all,  I  should  more  enjoy  the  thought  of  remaining 
behind  the  curtain  unseen,  like  the  ingenious  manager  of  Punch 
and  his  wife  Joan,  and  enjoying  the  astonishment  and  conjec¬ 
tures  of  my  audience.  Then  might  I,  perchance,  hear  the 
productions  of  the  obscure  Peter  Pattieson  praised  by  the  judi¬ 
cious  and  admired  by  the  feeling,  engrossing  the  young  and 
attracting  even  the  old ;  while  the  critic  traced  their  fame  up 
to  some  name  of  literary  celebrity,  and  the  question  when,  and 
by  whom,  these  tales  were  -written  filled  up  the  pause  of  con¬ 
versation  in  a  hundred  circles  and  coteries.  This  I  may  never 
enjoy  during  my  lifetime;  but  farther  than  this,  I  am  certain, 
my  vanity  should  never  induce  me  to  aspire. 

I  am  too  stubborn  in  habits,  and  too  little  polished  in 
manners,  to  envy  or  aspire  to  the  honours  assigned  to  my 
literary  contemporaries.  I  could  not  think  a  whit  more  highly 
of  myself  were  I  even  found  worthy  to  ‘  come  in  place  as  a  lion  ’ 
for  a  winter  in  the  great  metropolis.  I  could  not  rise,  turn 
round,  and  show  all  my  honours,  from  the  shaggy  mane  to  the 
tufted  tail,  ‘  roar  you  an  ’twere  any  nightingale/  and  so  lie  down 

VOL.  VIII — l 


2 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


again  like  a  well-behaved  beast  of  show,  and  all  at  the  cheap 
and  easy  rate  of  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter 
as  thin  as  a  wafer.  And  I  could  ill  stomach  the  fulsome  flattery 
wflth  which  the  lady  of  the  evening  indulges  her  show-monsters 
on  such  occasions,  as  she  crams  her  parrots  with  sugar-plums, 
in  order  to  make  them  talk  before  company.  I  cannot  be 
tempted  to  ‘  come  aloft 5  for  these  marks  of  distinction,  and, 
like  imprisoned  Samson,  I  would  rather  remain  —  if  such  must 
he  the  alternative  —  all  my  life  in  the  mill-house,  grinding  for 
my  very  bread,  than  be  brought  forth  to  make  sport  for  the 
Philistine  lords  and  ladies.  This  proceeds  from  no  dislike,  real 
or  affected,  to  the  aristocracy  of  these  realms.  But  they  have 
their  place,  and  I  have  mine ;  and,  like  the  iron  and  earthen 
vessels  in  the  old  fable,  we  can  scarce  come  into  collision  with¬ 
out  my  being  the  sufferer  in  every  sense.  It  may  be  otherwise 
with  the  sheets  which  I  am  now  writing.  These  may  be  opened 
and  laid  aside  at  pleasure ;  by  amusing  themselves  with  the 
perusal,  the  great  will  excite  no  false  hopes ;  by  neglecting  or 
condemning  them,  they  will  inflict  no  pain ;  and  how  seldom 
can  they  converse  with  those  whose  minds  have  toiled  for  their 
delight  without  doing  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

In  the  better  and  wiser  tone  of  feeling  which  Ovid  only 
expresses  in  one  line  to  retract  in  that  which  follows,  I  can 
address  these  quires  — 

Parve,  nec  invideo,  sine  me,  liber,  ibis  in  urbem. 

Nor  do  I  join  the  regret  of  the  illustrious  exile,  that  he  himself 
could  not  in  person  accompany  the  volume,  which  he  sent  forth 
to  the  mart  of  literature,  pleasure,  and  luxury.  Were  there 
not  a  hundred  similar  instances  on  record,  the  fate  of  my  poor 
friend  and  school-fellow,  Dick  Tinto,  would  be  sufficient  to  warn 
me  against  seeking  happiness  in  the  celebrity  which  attaches 
itself  to  a  successful  cultivator  of  the  fine  arts. 

Dick  Tinto,  when  he  wrote  himself  artist,  was  wont  to  derive 
his  origin  from  the  ancient  family  of  Tinto,  of  that  ilk,  in  Lanark¬ 
shire,  and  occasionally  hinted  that  he  had  somewhat  derogated 
from  his  gentle  blood  in  using  the  pencil  for  his  principal  means 
of  support.  But  if  Dick’s  pedigree  was  correct,  some  of  hi^ 
ancestors  must  have  suffered  a  more  heavy  declension,  since 
the  good  man  his  father  executed  the  necessary,  and,  I  trust, 
the  honest,  but  certainly  not  very  distinguished,  employment 
of  tailor  in  ordinary  to  the  village  of  Langdirdum  in  the  west. 
Under  his  humble  roof  was  Richard  born,  and  to  his  father’s 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


3 


humble  trade  was  Richard,  greatly  contrary  to  his  inclination, 
early  indentured.  Old  Mr.  Tinto  had,  however,  no  reason  to 
congratulate  himself  upon  having  compelled  the  youthful  genius 
of  his  son  to  forsake  its  natural  bent.  He  fared  like  the  school¬ 
boy  who  attempts  to  stop  with  his  finger  the  spout  of  a  water 
cistern,  while  the  stream,  exasperated  at  this  compression, 
escapes  by  a  thousand  uncalculated  spirts,  and  wets  him  all 
over  for  his  pains.  Even  so  fared  the  senior  Tinto,  when  his 
hopeful  apprentice  not  only  exhausted  all  the  chalk  in  making 
sketches  upon  the  shopboard,  but  even  executed  several  cari¬ 
catures  of  his  father’s  best  customers,  who  began  loudly  to  mur¬ 
mur,  that  it  was  too  hard  to  have  their  persons  deformed  by 
the  vestments  of  the  father,  and  to  be  at  the  same  time  turned 
into  ridicule  by  the  pencil  of  the  son.  This  led  to  discredit 
and  loss  of  practice,  until  the  old  tailor,  yielding  to  destiny  and 
to  the  entreaties  of  his  son,  permitted  him  to  attempt  his 
fortune  in  a  line  for  which  he  was  better  qualified. 

There  was  about  this  time,  in  the  village  of  Langdirdum,  a 
peripatetic  brother  of  the  brush,  who  exercised  his  vocation 
sub  Jove  frigido,  the  object  of  admiration  to  all  the  boys  of  the 
village,  but  especially  to  Dick  Tinto.  The  age  had  not  yet 
adopted,  amongst  other  unworthy  retrenchments,  that  illiberal 
measure  of  economy  which,  supplying  by  written  characters 
the  lack  of  symbolical  representation,  closes  one  open  and  easily 
accessible  avenue  of  instruction  and  emolument  against  the 
students  of  the  fine  arts.  It  was  not  yet  permitted  to  write 
upon  the  plastered  doorway  of  an  alehouse,  or  the  suspended 
sign  of  an  inn,  ‘The  Old  Magpie,’  or  ‘The  Saracen’s  Head,’ 
substituting  that  cold  description  for  the  lively  effigies  of  the 
plumed  chatterer,  or  the  turban’d  frown  of  the  terrific  soldan. 
That  early  and  more  simple  age  considered  alike  the  necessities 
of  all  ranks,  and  depicted  the  symbols  of  good  cheer  so  as  to  be 
obvious  to  all  capacities;  well  judging  that  a  man  who  could 
not  read  a  syllable  might  nevertheless  love  a  pot  of  good  ale  as 
well  as  his  better-educated  neighbours,  or  even  as  the  parson 
himself.  Acting  upon  this  liberal  principle,  publicans  as  yet 
hung  forth  the  painted  emblems  of  their  calling,  and  sign- 
painters,  if  they  seldom  feasted,  did  not  at  least  absolutely 
starve. 

To  a  worthy  of  this  decayed  profession,  as  we  have  already 
intimated,  Dick  Tinto  became  an  assistant ;  and  thus,  as  is  not 
unusual  among  heaven-born  geniuses  in  this  department  of  the 
fine  arts,  began  to  paint  before  he  had  any  notion  of  drawing. 


4 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


His  talent  for  observing  nature  soon  induced  him  to  rectify 
the  errors,  and  soar  above  the  instructions,  of  bis  teacher.  He 
particularly  shone  in  painting  horses,  that  being  a  favourite 
sign  in  the  Scottish  villages ;  and,  in  tracing  his  progress,  it  is 
beautiful  to  observe  how  by  degrees  he  learned  to  shorten  the 
backs  and  prolong  the  legs  of  these  noble  animals,  until  they 
came  to  look  less  like  crocodiles,  and  more  like  nags.  Detrac¬ 
tion,  which  always  pursues  merit  with  strides  proportioned  to 
its  advancement,  has  indeed  alleged  that  Dick  once  upon  a 
time  painted  a  horse  with  five  legs,  instead  of  four.  I  might 
have  rested  his  defence  upon  the  license  allowed  to  that  branch 
of  his  profession,  which,  as  it  permits  all  sorts  of  singular  and 
irregular  combinations,  may  be  allowed  to  extend  itself  so  far 
as  to  bestow  a  limb  supernumerary  on  a  favourite  subject. 
But  the  cause  of  a  deceased  friend  is  sacred ;  and  I  disdain  to 
bottom  it  so  superficially.  I  have  visited  the  sign  in  question, 
which  yet  swings  exalted  in  the  village  of  Langdirdum ;  and  I 
am  ready  to  depone  upon  oath  that  what  has  been  idly  mistaken 
or  misrepresented  as  being  the  fifth  leg  of  the  horse,  is,  in  fact, 
the  tail  of  that  quadruped,  and,  considered  with  reference  to 
the  posture  in  which  he  is  delineated,  forms  a  circumstance 
introduced  and  managed  with  great  and  successful,  though 
daring,  art.  The  nag  being  represented  in  a  rampant  or  rearing 
posture,  the  tail,  which  is  prolonged  till  it  touches  the  ground, 
appears  to  form  a  point  d'appui ,  and  gives  the  firmness  of  a 
tripod  to  the  figure,  without  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  con¬ 
ceive,  placed  as  the  feet  are,  how  the  courser  could  maintain 
his  ground  without  tumbling  backwards.  This  bold  conception 
has  fortunately  fallen  into  the  custody  of  one  by  whom  it  is 
duly  valued  ;  for,  when  Dick,  in  his  more  advanced  state  of 
proficiency,  became  dubious  of  the  propriety  of  so  daring  a 
deviation  from  the  established  rules  of  art,  and  was  desirous  to 
execute  a  picture  of  the  publican  himself  in  exchange  for  this 
juvenile  production,  the  courteous  offer  was  declined  by  his 
judicious  employer,  who  had  observed,  it  seems,  that  when  his 
ale  failed  to  do  its  duty  in  conciliating  his  guests,  one  glance  at 
his  sign  was  sure  to  put  them  in  good  humour. 

It  would  be  foreign  to  my  present  purpose  to  trace  the  steps 
by  which  Dick  Tinto  improved  his  touch,  and  corrected,  by  the 
rules  of  art,  the  luxuriance  of  a  fervid  imagination.  The  scales 
fell  from  his  eyes  on  viewing  the  sketches  of  a  contemporary, 
the  Scottish  Teniers,  as  Wilkie  has  been  deservedly  styled.  He 
threw  down  the  brush,  took  up  the  crayons,  and,  amid  hunger 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


5 


and  toil,  and  suspense  and  uncertainty,  pursued  the  path  of  his 
profession  under  better  auspices  than  those  of  his  original  master. 
Still  the  first  rude  emanations  of  his  genius,  like  the  nursery 
rhymes  of  Pope,  could  these  be  recovered,  will  be  dear  to  the 
companions  of  Dick  Tinto’s  youth.  There  is  a  tankard  and 
gridiron  painted  over  the  door  of  an  obscure  change-house  in  the 

Back  Wynd  of  Gandercleugh -  But  I  feel  I  must  tear  myself 

from  the  subject,  or  dwell  on  it  too  long. 

Amid  his  wants  and  struggles,  Dick  Tinto  had  recourse,  like 
his  brethren,  to  levying  that  tax  upon  the  vanity  of  mankind 
which  he  could  not  extract  from  their  taste  and  liberality  —  in  a 
word,  he  painted  portraits.  It  was  in  this  more  advanced  state 
of  proficiency,  when  Dick  had  soared  above  his  original  line  of 
business,  and  highly  disdained  any  allusion  to  it,  that,  after 
having  been  estranged  for  several  years,  we  again  met  in  the 
village  of  Gandercleugh,  I  holding  my  present  situation,  and 
Dick  painting  copies  of  the  human  face  divine  at  a  guinea  per 
head.  This  was  a  small  premium,  yet,  in  the  first  burst  of 
business,  it  more  than  sufficed  for  all  Dick’s  moderate  wants ; 
so  that  he  occupied  an  apartment  at  the  Wallace  Inn,  cracked 
his  jest  with  impunity  even  upon  mine  host  himself,  and  lived 
in  respect  and  observance  with  the  chambermaid,  hostler,  and 
waiter. 

Those  halcyon  days  were  too  serene  to  last  long.  When  his 
honour  the  Laird  of  Gandercleugh,  with  his  wife  and  three 
daughters,  the  minister,  the  gauger,  mine  esteemed  patron  Mr. 
Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  and  some  round  dozen  of  the  feuars 
and  farmers,  had  been  consigned  to  immortality  by  Tinto’s 
brush,  custom  began  to  slacken,  and  it  was  impossible  to  wring 
more  than  crowns  and  half-crowns  from  the  hard  hands  of 
the  peasants  whose  ambition  led  them  to  Dick’s  painting- 
room. 

Still,  though  the  horizon  was  overclouded,  no  storm  for  some 
time  ensued.  Mine  host  had  Christian  faith  with  a  lodger  who 
had  been  a  good  paymaster  as  long  as  he  had  the  means.  And 
from  a  portrait  of  our  landlord  himself,  grouped  with  his  wife 
and  daughters,  in  the  style  of  Rubens,  which  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  best  parlour,  it  was  evident  that  Dick  had  found  some 
mode  of  bartering  art  for  the  necessaries  of  life. 

Nothing,  however,  is  more  precarious  than  resources  of  this 
nature.  It  was  observed  that  Dick  became  in  his  turn  the 
whetstone  of  mine  host’s  wit,  without  venturing  either  at 
defence  or  retaliation;  that  his  easel  was  transferred  to  a 


6 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


garret-room,  in  which  there  was  scarce  space  for  it  to  stand 
upright;  and  that  he  no  longer  ventured  to  join  the  weekly 
club,  of  which  he  had  been  once  the  life  and  soul.  In  short, 
Dick  Tinto’s  friends  feared  that  he  had  acted  like  the  animal 
called  the  sloth,  which,  having  eaten  up  the  last  green  leaf 
upon  the  tree  where  it  has  established  itself,  ends  by  tumbling 
down  from  the  top,  and  dying  of  inanition.  I  ventured  to  hint 
this  to  Dick,  recommended  his  transferring  the  exercise  of  his 
inestimable  talent  to  some  other  sphere,  and  forsaking  the 
common  which  he  might  be  said  to  have  eaten  hare. 

‘There  is  an  obstacle  to  my  change  of  residence/  said  my 
friend,  grasping  my  hand  with  a  look  of  solemnity. 

‘  A  bill  due  to  my  landlord,  I  am  afraid  %  ’  replied  I,  with 
heartfelt  sympathy ;  ‘  if  any  part  of  my  slender  means  can 
assist  in  this  emergence - ’ 

‘No,  by  the  soul  of  Sir  Joshua !  ’  answered  the  generous 
youth,  ‘  I  will  never  involve  a  friend  in  the  consequences  of 
my  own  misfortune.  There  is  a  mode  by  which  I  can  regain 
my  liberty;  and  to  creep  even  through  a  common  sewer  is 
better  than  to  remain  in  prison.’ 

I  did  not  perfectly  understand  what  my  friend  meant.  The 
muse  of  painting  appeared  to  have  failed  him,  and  what  other 
goddess  he  could  invoke  in  his  distress  was  a  mystery  to  me. 
We  parted,  however,  without  further  explanation,  and  I  did 
not  again  see  him  until  three  days  after,  when  he  summoned 
me  to  partake  of  the  ‘  foy  ’  with  which  his  landlord  proposed  to 
regale  him  ere  his  departure  for  Edinburgh. 

I  found  Dick  in  high  spirits,  whistling  while  he  buckled  the 
small  knapsack  which  contained  his  colours,  brushes,  pallets, 
and  clean  shirt.  That  he  parted  on  the  best  terms  with  mine 
host  was  obvious  from  the  cold  beef  set  forth  in  the  low  par¬ 
lour,  flanked  by  two  mugs  of  admirable  brown  stout ;  and  I 
own  my  curiosity  was  excited  concerning  the  means  through 
which  the  face  of  my  friend’s  affairs  had  been  so  suddenly 
improved.  I  did  not  suspect  Dick  of  dealing  with  the  devil, 
and  by  what  earthly  means  he  had  extricated  himself  thus 
happily  I  was  at  a  total  loss  to  conjecture. 

He  perceived  my  curiosity,  and  took  me  by  the  hand.  ‘  My 
friend,’  he  said,  ‘fain  would  I  conceal,  even  from  you,  the 
degradation  to  which  it  has  been  necessary  to  submit,  in  order 
to  accomplish  an  honourable  retreat  from  Gandercleugh.  But 
what  avails  attempting  to  conceal  that  which  must  needs  betray 
itself  even  by  its  superior  excellence  ?  All  the  village  —  all  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


7 


parish  —  all  the  world  —  will  soon  discover  to  what  poverty  has 
reduced  Richard  Tinto.’ 

A  sudden  thought  here  struck  me.  I  had  observed  that 
our  landlord  wore,  on  that  memorable  morning,  a  pair  of  bran 
new  velveteens,  instead  of  his  ancient  thicksets. 

‘What,’  said  I,  drawing  my  right  hand,  with  the  forefinger 
and  thumb  pressed  together,  nimbly  from  my  right  haunch  to 
my  left  shoulder,  ‘  you  have  condescended  to  resume  the  paternal 
arts  to  which  you  were  first  bred  —  long  stitches,  ha,  Dick  ?  ’ 

He  repelled  this  unlucky  conjecture  with  a  frown  and  a 
pshaw,  indicative  of  indignant  contempt,  and  leading  me  into 
another  room,  showed  me,  resting  against  the  wall,  the  majestic 
head  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  grim  as  when  severed  from  the 
trunk  by  the  orders  of  the  felon  Edward. 

The  painting  was  executed  on  hoards  of  a  substantial  thick¬ 
ness,  and  the  top  decorated  with  irons,  for  suspending  the 
honoured  effigy  upon  a  signpost. 

‘  There,’  he  said,  ‘  my  friend,  stands  the  honour  of  Scotland, 
and  my  shame ;  yet  not  so  —  rather  the  shame  of  those  who, 
instead  of  encouraging  art  in  its  proper  sphere,  reduce  it  to 
these  unbecoming  and  unworthy  extremities.’ 

I  endeavoured  to  smooth  the  ruffled  feelings  of  my  misused 
and  indignant  friend.  I  reminded  him  that  he  ought  not, 
like  the  stag  in  the  fable,  to  despise  the  quality  which  had 
extricated  him  from  difficulties,  in  which  his  talents,  as  a 
portrait  or  landscape  painter,  had  been  found  unavailing. 
Above  all,  I  praised  the  execution,  as  well  as  conception,  of  his 
painting,  and  reminded  him  that,  far  from  feeling  dishonoured 
by  so  superb  a  specimen  of  his  talents  being  exposed  to  the 
general  view  of  the  public,  he  ought  rather  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  the  augmentation  of  his  celebrity  to  which  its 
public  exhibition  must  necessarily  give  rise. 

‘You  are  right,  my  friend  —  you  are  right,’  replied  poor 
Dick,  his  eye  kindling  with  enthusiasm ;  ‘  why  should  I  shun 
the  name  of  an  —  an  —  (he  hesitated  for  a  phrase)  —  an  out-of- 
doors  artist  ?  Hogarth  has  introduced  himself  in  that  char¬ 
acter  in  one  of  his  best  engravings ;  Domenichino,  or  somebody 
else,  in  ancient  times,  Morland  in  our  own,  have  exercised 
their  talents  in  this  manner.  And  wherefore  limit  to  the  rich 
and  higher  classes  alone  the  delight  which  the  exhibition  of 
works  of  art  is  calculated  to  inspire  into  all  classes  ?  Statues 
are  placed  in  the  open  air,  why  should  Painting  be  more  nig¬ 
gardly  in  displaying  her  masterpieces  than  her  sister  Sculpture  1 


8 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


And  yet,  my  friend,  we  must  part  suddenly ;  the  carpenter 
is  coming  in  an  hour  to  put  up  the  —  the  emblem  ;  and  truly, 
with  all  my  philosophy,  and  your  consolatory  encourage¬ 
ment  to  boot,  I  would  rather  wish  to  leave  Gandercleugh  before 
that  operation  commences.’ 

We  partook  of  our  genial  host’s  parting  banquet,  and  I 
escorted  Dick  on  his  walk  to  Edinburgh.  We  parted  about  a 
mile  from  the  village,  just  as  we  heard  the  distant  cheer  of  the 
boys  which  accompanied  the  mounting  of  the  new  symbol  of 
the  Wallace  Head.  Dick  Tinto  mended  his  pace  to  get  out  of 
hearing,  so  little  had  either  early  practice  or  recent  philosophy 
reconciled  him  to  the  character  of  a  sign-painter. 

In  Edinburgh,  Dick’s  talents  were  discovered  and  appreciated, 
and  he  received  dinners  and  hints  from  several  distinguished 
judges  of  the  fine  arts.  But  these  gentlemen  dispensed  their 
criticism  more  willingly  than  their  cash,  and  Dick  thought  he 
needed  cash  more  than  criticism.  He  therefore  sought  London, 
the  universal  mart  of  talent,  and  where,  as  is  usual  in  general 
marts  of  most  descriptions,  much  more  of  each  commodity  is 
exposed  to  sale  than  can  ever  find  purchasers. 

Dick,  who,  in  serious  earnest,  was  supposed  to  have  consider¬ 
able  natural  talents  for  his  profession,  and  whose  vain  and 
sanguine  disposition  never  permitted  him  to  doubt  for  a 
moment  of  ultimate  success,  threw  himself  headlong  into  the 
crowd  which  j  ostled  and  struggled  for  notice  and  preferment.  He 
elbowed  others,  and  was  elbowed  himself ;  and  finally,  by  dint  of 
intrepidity,  fought  his  way  into  some  notice,  painted  for  the  prize 
at  the  Institution,  had  pictures  at  the  exhibition  at  Somerset 
House,  and  damned  the  hanging  committee.  But  poor  Dick 
was  doomed  to  lose  the  field  he  fought  so  gallantly.  In  the 
fine  arts,  there  is  scarce  an  alternative  betwixt  distinguished 
success  and  absolute  failure  ;  and  as  Dick’s  zeal  and  industry 
were  unable  to  ensure  the  first,  he  fell  into  the  distresses  which, 
in  his  condition,  were  the  natural  consequences  of  the  latter 
alternative.  He  was  for  a  time  patronised  by  one  or  two  of 
those  judicious  persons  who  make  a  virtue  of  being  singular, 
and  of  pitching  their  own  opinions  against  those  of  the  world 
in  matters  of  taste  and  criticism.  But  they  soon  tired  of  poor 
Tinto,  and  laid  him  down  as  a  load,  upon  the  principle  on  which 
a  spoilt  child  throws  away  its  plaything.  Misery,  I  fear,  took 
him  up,  and  accompanied  him  to  a  premature  grave,  to  which 
he  was  carried  from  an  obscure  lodging  in  Swallow  Street, 
where  he  had  been  dunned  by  his  landlady  within  doors,  and 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


9 


watched  by  bailiffs  without,  until  death  came  to  his  relief.  A 
corner  of  the  Morning  Post  noticed  his  death,  generously  add¬ 
ing,  that  his  manner  displayed  considerable  genius,  though  his 
style  was  rather  sketchy ;  and  referred  to  an  advertisement, 
which  announced  that  Mr.  Varnish,  a  well-known  printseller, 
had  still  on  hand  a  very  few  drawings  and  paintings  by  Richard 
Tinto,  Esquire,  which  those  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  who 
wish  to  complete  their  collections  of  modern  art  were  invited 
to  visit  without  delay.  So  ended  Dick  Tinto  !  a  lamentable 
proof  of  the  great  truth,  that  in  the  fine  arts  mediocrity  is 
not  permitted,  and  that  he  who  cannot  ascend  to  the  very 
top  of  the  ladder  will  do  well  not  to  put  his  foot  upon  it 
at  all. 

The  memory  of  Tinto  is  dear  to  me,  from  the  recollection  of 
the  many  conversations  which  we  have  had  together,  most  of 
them  turning  upon  my  present  task.  He  was  delighted  with 
my  progress,  and  talked  of  an  ornamented  and  illustrated 
edition,  with  heads,  vignettes,  and  culs  de  lampe ,  all  to  be  de¬ 
signed  by  his  own  patriotic  and  friendly  pencil.  He  prevailed 
upon  an  old  sergeant  of  invalids  to  sit  to  him  in  the  character 
of  Both  well,  the  lifeguard’s-man  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  the 
bellman  of  Gandercleugh  in  that  of  David  Deans.  But  while 
he  thus  proposed  to  unite  his  own  powers  with  mine  for  the 
illustration  of  these  narratives,  he  mixed  many  a  dose  of 
salutary  criticism  with  the  panegyrics  which  my  composition 
was  at  times  so  fortunate  as  to  call  forth. 

‘  Your  characters,’  he  said,  ‘  my  dear  Pattieson,  make  too 
much  use  of  the  gob  box ;  they  patter  too  much  (an  elegant 
phraseology  which  Dick  had  learned  while  painting  the  scenes 
of  an  itinerant  company  of  players)  ;  there  is  nothing  in  whole 
pages  but  mere  chat  and  dialogue.’ 

‘The  ancient  philosopher,’  said  I  in  reply,  ‘was  wont  to  say, 
“  Speak,  that  I  may  know  thee  ”  ;  and  how  is  it  possible  for  an 
author  to  introduce  his  personas  dramatis  to  his  readers  in  a 
more  interesting  and  effectual  manner  than  by  the  dialogue  in 
which  each  is  represented  as  supporting  his  own  appropriate 
character  %  ’ 

‘  It  is  a  false  conclusion,’  said  Tinto ;  ‘  I  hate  it,  Peter,  as  I 
hate  an  unfilled  can.  I  will  grant  you,  indeed,  that  speech  is 
a  faculty  of  some  value  in  the  intercourse  of  human  affairs, 
and  I  will  not  even  insist  on  the  doctrine  of  that  Pythagorean 
toper,  who  was  of  opinion  that  over  a  bottle  speaking  spoiled 
conversation.  But  I  will  not  allow  that  a  professor  of  the  fine 


10 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


arts  has  occasion  to  embody  the  idea  of  his  scene  in  language, 
in  order  to  impress  upon  the  reader  its  reality  and  its  effect. 
On  the  contrary,  I  will  be  judged  by  most  of  your  readers, 
Peter,  should  these  tales  ever  become  public,  whether  you  have 
not  given  us  a  page  of  talk  for  every  single  idea  which  two 
words  might  have  communicated,  while  the  posture,  and 
manner,  and  incident,  accurately  drawn,  and  brought  out  by 
appropriate  colouring,  would  have  preserved  all  that  was 
worthy  of  preservation,  and  saved  these  everlasting  “  said  he’s  ” 
and  “said  she’s,”  with  which  it  has  been  your  pleasure  to 
encumber  your  pages.’ 

I  replied,  ‘  That  he  confounded  the  operations  of  the  pencil 
and  the  pen ;  that  the  serene  and  silent  art,  as  painting  has 
been  called  by  one  of  our  first  living  poets,  necessarily  appealed 
to  the  eye,  because  it  had  not  the  organs  for  addressing  the 
ear;  whereas  poetry,  or  that  species  of  composition  which 
approached  to  it,  lay  under  the  necessity  of  doing  absolutely 
the  reverse,  and  addressed  itself  to  the  ear,  for  the  purpose  of 
exciting  that  interest  which  it  could  not  attain  through  the 
medium  of  the  eye.’ 

Dick  was  not  a  whit  staggered  by  my  argument,  which  he 
contended  was  founded  on  misrepresentation.  ‘Description,’ 
he  said,  ‘  was  to  the  author  of  a  romance  exactly  what  drawing 
and  tinting  were  to  a  painter  :  words  were  his  colours,  and,  if 
properly  employed,  they  could  not  fail  to  place  the  scene  which 
he  wished  to  conjure  up  as  effectually  before  the  mind’s  eye 
as  the  tablet  or  canvas  presents  it  to  the  bodily  organ.  The 
same  rules,’  he  contended,  ‘applied  to  both,  and  an  exuberance 
of  dialogue,  in  the  former  case,  was  a  verbose  and  laborious 
mode  of  composition  which  went  to  confound  the  proper  art  of 
fictitious  narrative  with  that  of  the  drama,  a  widely  different 
species  of  composition,  of  which  dialogue  wras  the  very  essence, 
because  all,  excepting  the  language  to  be  made  use  of,  was  pre¬ 
sented  to  the  eye  by  the  dresses,  and  persons,  and  actions  of 
the  performers  upon  the  stage.  But  as  nothing,’  said  Dick, 

‘  can  be  more  dull  than  a  long  narrative  written  upon  the  plan 
of  a  drama,  so  where  you  have  approached  most  near  to  that 
species  of  composition,  by  indulging  in  prolonged  scenes  of 
mere  conversation,  the  course  of  your  story  has  become  chill 
and  constrained,  and  you  have  lost  the  power  of  arresting  the 
attention  and  exciting  the  imagination,  in  which  upon  other 
occasions  you  may  be  considered  as  having  succeeded  tolerably 
well.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


11 


I  made  my  bow  in  requital  of  the  compliment,  which  was 
probably  thrown  in  by  way  of  placebo ,  and  expressed  myself 
willing  at  least  to  make  one  trial  of  a  more  straightforward 
style  of  composition,  in  which  my  actors  should  do  more,  and 
say  less,  than  in  my  former  attempts  of  this  kind.  Dick  gave 
me  a  patronising  and  approving  nod,  and  observed  that,  find¬ 
ing  me  so  docile,  he  would”  communicate,  for  the  benefit  of 
my  muse,  a  subject  which  he  had  studied  with  a  view  to  his 
own  art. 

‘The  story,’  he  said,  ‘  was,  by  tradition,  affirmed  to  be  truth, 
although,  as  upwards  of  a  hundred  years  had  passed  away  since 
the  events  took  place,  some  doubt  upon  the  accuracy  of  all  the 
particulars  might  be  reasonably  entertained.’ 

When  Dick  Tinto  had  thus  spoken,  he  rummaged  his  portfolio 
for  the  sketch  from  which  he  proposed  one  day  to  execute  a 
picture  of  fourteen  feet  by  eight.  The  sketch,  which  was 
cleverly  executed,  to  use  the  appropriate  phrase,  represented  an 
ancient  hall,  fitted  up  and  furnished  in  what  we  now  call  the 
taste  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  age.  The  light,  admitted  from  the 
upper  part  of  a  high  casement,  fell  upon  a  female  figure  of 
exquisite  beauty,  who,  in  an  attitude  of  speechless  terror, 
appeared  to  watch  the  issue  of  a  debate  betwixt  two  other 
persons.  The  one  was  a  young  man,  in  the  Vandyke  dress 
common  to  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  who,  with  an  air  of  indignant 
pride,  testified  by  the  manner  in  which  he  raised  his  head  and 
extended  his  arm,  seemed  to  be  urging  a  claim  of  right,  rather 
than  of  favour,  to  a  lady  whose  age,  and  some  resemblance  in 
their  features,  pointed  her  out  as  the  mother  of  the  younger 
female,  and  who  appeared  to  listen  with  a  mixture  of  displeasure 
and  impatience. 

Tinto  produced  his  sketch  with  an  air  of  mysterious  triumph, 
and  gazed  on  it  as  a  fond  parent  looks  upon  a  hopeful  child, 
while  he  anticipates  the  future  figure  he  is  to  make  in  the 
world,  and.  the  height  to  which  he  will  raise  the  honour  of  his 
family.  He  held  it  at  arm’s  length  from  me  —  he  held  it  closer 
—  he  placed  it  upon  the  top  of  a  chest  of  drawers  —  closed  the 
lower  shutters  of  the  casement,  to  adjust  a  downward  and 
favourable  light  —  fell  back  to  the  due  distance,  dragging  me 
after  him  —  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  if  to  exclude  all 
but  the  favourite  object  —  and  ended  by  spoiling  a  child’s  copy¬ 
book,  which  he  rolled  up  so  as  to  serve  for  the  darkened  tube 
of  an  amateur.  I  fancy  my  expressions  of  enthusiasm  had  not 
been  in  proportion  to  his  own,  for  he  presently  exclaimed  with 


12 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


vehemence,  ‘  Mr.  Pattieson,  I  used  to  think  you  had  an  eye  in 
your  head.’ 

I  vindicated  my  claim  to  the  usual  allowance  of  visual 
organs. 

‘Yet,  on  my  honour,’  said  Dick,  ‘I  would  swear  you  had 
been  born  blind,  since  you  have  failed  at  the  first  glance  to  dis¬ 
cover  the  subject  and  meaning  of  that  sketch.  I  do  not  mean 
to  praise  my  own  performance,  I  leave  these  arts  to  others  ;  I 
am  sensible  of  my  deficiencies,  conscious  that  my  drawing  and 
colouring  may  be  improved  by  the  time  I  intend  to  dedicate 
to  the  art.  But  the  conception  —  the  expression  —  the  positions 
—  these  tell  the  story  to  every  one  who  looks  at  the  sketch  ; 
and  if  I  can  finish  the  picture  without  diminution  of  the  original 
conception,  the  name  of  Tinto  shall  no  more  be  smothered  by 
the  mists  of  envy  and  intrigue.’ 

I  replied,  ‘  That  I  admired  the  sketch  exceedingly ;  but 
that  to  understand  its  full  merit,  I  felt  it  absolutely  necessary 
to  be  informed  of  the  subject.’ 

‘That  is  the  very  thing  I  complain  of,’  answered  Tinto; 
‘  you  have  accustomed  yourself  so  much  to  these  creeping  twi¬ 
light  details  of  yours,  that  you  are  become  incapable  of  receiving 
that  instant  and  vivid  flash  of  conviction  which  darts  on  the 
mind  from  seeing  the  happy  and  expressive  combinations  of  a 
single  scene,  and  which  gathers  from  the  position,  attitude,  and 
countenance  of  the  moment,  not  only  the  history  of  the  past  lives 
of  the  personages  represented,  and  the  nature  of  the  business  on 
which  they  are  immediately  engaged,  but  lifts  even  the  veil  of 
futurity,  and  affords  a  shrewd  guess  at  their  future  fortunes.’ 

‘  In  that  case,’  replied  I,  ‘  Painting  excels  the  ape  of  the  re¬ 
nowned  Gines  de  Passamonte,  which  only  meddled  with  the 
past  and  the  present ;  nay,  she  excels  that  very  Nature  who 
affords  her  subjects  ;  for  I  protest  to  you,  Dick,  that  were  I 
permitted  to  peep  into  that  Elizabeth-chamber,  and  see  the 
persons  you  have  sketched  conversing  in  flesh  and  blood,  I 
should  not  be  a  jot  nearer  guessing  the  nature  of  their  business 
than  I  am  at  this  moment  while  looking  at  your  sketch.  Only 
generally,  from  the  languishing  look  of  the  young  lady,  and  the 
care  you  have  taken  to  present  a  very  handsome  leg  on  the  part 
of  the  gentleman,  I  presume  there  is  some  reference  to  a  love 
affair  between  them.’ 

‘Do  you  really  presume  to  form  such  a  bold  conjecture?’ 
said  Tinto.  ‘And  the  indignant  earnestness  with  which  you 
see  the  man  urge  his  suit,  the  unresisting  and  passive  despair 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


13 


of  the  younger  female,  the  stem  air  of  inflexible  determination 
in  the  elder  woman,  whose  looks  express  at  once  consciousness 
that  she  is  acting  wrong  and  a  firm  determination  to  persist  in 
the  course  she  has  adopted - ’ 

‘  If  her  looks  express  all  this,  my  dear  Tinto,’  replied  I,  in¬ 
terrupting  him,  ‘  your  pencil  rivals  the  dramatic  art  of  Mr.  Puff 
in  The  Critic ,  who  crammed  a  whole  complicated  sentence  into 
the  expressive  shake  of  Lord  Burleigh’s  head.’ 

‘My  good  friend,  Peter,’  replied  Tinto,  ‘I  observe  you  are 
perfectly  incorrigible  ;  however,  I  have  compassion  on  your 
dulness,  and  am  unwilling  you  should  be  deprived  of  the 
pleasure  of  understanding  my  picture,  and  of  gaining,  at  the 
same  time,  a  subject  for  your  own  pen.  You  must  know  then, 
last  summer,  while  I  was  taking  sketches  on  the  coast  of  East 
Lothian  and  Berwickshire,  I  was  seduced  into  the  mountains  of 
Lammermoor  by  the  account  I  received  of  some  remains  of 
antiquity  in  that  district.  Those  with  which  I  was  most  struck 
were  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  castle  in  which  that  Elizabeth- 
chamber,  as  you  call  it,  once  existed.  I  resided  for  two  or  three 
days  at  a  farmhouse  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  the  aged 
goodwife  was  well  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  castle, 
and  the  events  which  had  taken  place  in  it.  One  of  these  was 
of  a  nature  so  interesting  and  singular,  that  my  attention  was 
divided  between  my  wish  to  draw  the  old  ruins  in  landscape,  and 
to  represent,  in  a  history-piece,  the  singular  events  which  have 
taken  place  in  it.  Here  are  my  notes  of  the  tale,’  said  poor 
Dick,  handing  a  parcel  of  loose  scraps,  partly  scratched  over 
with  his  pencil,  partly  with  his  pen,  where  outlines  of  cari¬ 
catures,  sketches  of  turrets,  mills,  old  gables,  and  dovecots, 
disputed  the  ground  with  his  written  memoranda. 

I  proceeded,  however,  to  decipher  the  substance  of  the  manu¬ 
script  as  well  as  I  could,  and  wove  it  into  the  following  Tale, 
in  which,  following  in  part,  though  not  entirely,  my  friend 
Tinto’s  advice,  I  endeavoured  to  render  my  narrative  rather 
descriptive  than  dramatic.  My  favourite  propensity,  however, 
has  at  times  overcome  me,  and  my  persons,  like  many  others 
in  this  talking  world,  speak  now  and  then  a  great  deal  more 
than  they  act. 


CHAPTER  II 


Well,  lords,  we  have  not  got  that  -which  we  have  ; 

’T  is  not  enough  our  foes  are  this  time  fled, 

Being  opposites  of  such  repairing  nature. 

Henry  VI.  Part  II. 

IN  the  gorge  of  a  pass  or  mountain  glen,  ascending  from  the 
fertile  plains  of  East  Lothian,  there  stood  in  former  times 
an  extensive  castle,  of  which  only  the  ruins  are  now 
visible.  Its  ancient  proprietors  were  a  race  of  powerful  and 
warlike  barons,  who  bore  the  same  name  with  the  castle  itself, 
which  was  Ravens  wood.  Their  line  extended  to  a  remote 
period  of  antiquity,  and  they  had  intermarried  with  the  Doug¬ 
lasses,  Humes,  Swintons,  Hays,  and  other  families  of  power  and 
distinction  in  the  same  country.  Their  history  was  frequently 
involved  in  that  of  Scotland  itself,  in  whose  annals  their  feats 
are  recorded.  The  Castle  of  Ravenswood,  occupying,  and  in 
some  measure  commanding,  a  pass  betwixt  Berwickshire,  or 
the  Merse,  as  the  southeastern  province  of  Scotland  is  termed, 
and  the  Lothians,  was  of  importance  both  in  times  of  foreign 
war  and  domestic  discord.  It  was  frequently  besieged  with 
ardour,  and  defended  with  obstinacy,  and,  of  course,  its  owners 
played  a  conspicuous  part  in  story.  But  their  house  had 
its  revolutions,  like  all  sublunary  things  :  it  became  greatly 
declined  from  its  splendour  about  the  middle  of  the  17th 
century;  and  towards  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  the  last 
proprietor  of  Ravenswood  Castle  saw  himself  compelled  to 
part  with  the  ancient  family  seat,  and  to  remove  himself  to 
a  lonely  and  sea-beaten  tower,  which,  situated  on  the  bleak 
shores  between  St.  Abb’s  Head  and  the  village  of  Eyemouth, 
looked  out  on  the  lonely  and  boisterous  German  Ocean.  A 
black  domain  of  wild  pastureland  surrounded  their  new  resi¬ 
dence,  and  formed  the  remains  of  their  property. 

Lord  Ravenswood,  the  heir  of  this  ruined  family,  was  far 
from  bending  his  mind  to  his  new  condition  of  life.  In  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


15 


civil  war  of  1689  lie  had  espoused  the  sinking  side,  and  although 
he  had  escaped  without  the  forfeiture  of  life  or  land,  his  blood 
had  been  attainted,  and  his  title  abolished.  He  was  now  called 
Lord  Ravenswood  only  in  courtesy. 

This  forfeited  nobleman  inherited  the  pride  and  turbulence, 
though  not  the  fortune,  of  his  house,  and,  as  he  imputed  the 
final  declension  of  his  family  to  a  particular  individual,  he 
honoured  that  person  with  his  full  portion  of  hatred.  This 
was  the  very  man  who  had  now  become,  by  purchase,  proprietor 
of  Ravenswood,  and  the  domains  of  which  the  heir  of  the  house 
now  stood  dispossessed.  He  was  descended  of  a  family  much 
less  ancient  than  that  of  Lord  Ravenswood,  and  which  had 
only  risen  to  wealth  and  political  importance  during  the  great 
civil  wars.  He  himself  had  been  bred  to  the  bar,  and  had  held 
high  offices  in  the  state,  maintaining  through  life  the  character 
of  a  skilful  fisher  in  the  troubled  waters  of  a  state  divided  by 
factions,  and  governed  by  delegated  authority ;  and  of  one  who 
contrived  to  amass  considerable  sums  of  money  in  a  country 
where  there  was  but  little  to  be  gathered,  and  who  equally 
knew  the  value  of  wealth  and  the  various  means  of  augment¬ 
ing  it  and  using  it  as  an  engine  of  increasing  his  power  and 
influence. 

Thus  qualified  and  gifted,  he  was  a  dangerous  antagonist  to 
the  fierce  and  imprudent  Ravenswood.  Whether  he  had  given 
him  good  cause  for  the  enmity  with  which  the  Baron  regarded 
him,  was  a  point  on  which  men  spoke  differently.  Some  said 
the  quarrel  arose  merefy  from  the  vindictive  spirit  and  envy 
of  Lord  Ravenswood,  who  could  not  patiently  behold  another, 
though  by  just  and  fair  purchase,  become  the  proprietor  of 
the  estate  and  castle  of  his  forefathers.  But  the  greater  part 
of  the  public,  prone  to  slander  the  wealthy  in  their  absence  as 
to  flatter  them  in  their  presence,  held  a  less  charitable  opinion. 
They  said  that  the  Lord  Keeper  (for  to  this  height  Sir  William 
Ashton  had  ascended)  had,  previous  to  the  final  purchase  of  the 
estate  of  Ravenswood,  been  "concerned  in  extensive  pecuniary 
transactions  with  the  former  proprietor ;  and,  rather  intimat¬ 
ing  what  wTas  probable  than  affirming  anything  positively,  they 
asked  which  party  was  likely  to  have  the  advantage  in  stating 
and  enforcing  the  claims  arising  out  of  these  complicated 
affairs,  and  more  than  hinted  the  advantages  which  the  cool 
lawyer  and  able  politician  must  necessarily  possess  over  the 
hot,  fiery,  and  imprudent  character  whom  lie  had  involved  in 
legal  toils  and  pecuniary  snares. 


16 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


The  character  of  the  times  aggravated  these  suspicions. 
‘In  those  days  there  was  no  king  in  Israel.’  Since  the  de¬ 
parture  of  James  VI.  to  assume  the  richer  and  more  powerful 
crown  of  England,  there  had  existed  in  Scotland  contending 
parties,  formed  among  the  aristocracy,  by  whom,  as  their  in¬ 
trigues  at  the  court  of  St.  James’s  chanced  to  prevail,  the 
delegated  powers  of  sovereignty  were  alternately  swayed.  The 
evils  attending  upon  this  system  of  government  resemble  those 
which  afflict  the  tenants  of  an  Irish  estate,  the  property  of  an 
absentee.  There  was  no  supreme  power,  claiming  and  possess¬ 
ing  a  general  interest  with  the  community  at  large,  to  whom 
the  oppressed  might  appeal  from  subordinate  tyranny,  either 
for  justice  or  for  mercy.  Let  a  monarch  be  as  indolent,  as 
selfish,  as  much  disposed  to  arbitrary  power  as  he  will,  still,  in 
a  free  country,  his  own  interests  are  so  clearly  connected  with 
those  of  the  public  at  large,  and  the  evil  consequences  to  his 
own  authority  are  so  obvious  and  imminent  when  a  different 
course  is  pursued,  that  common  policy,  as  well  as  common 
feeling,  point  to  the  equal  distribution  of  justice,  and  to  the 
establishment  of  the  throne  in  righteousness.  Thus,  even 
sovereigns  remarkable  for  usurpation  and  tyranny  have  been 
found  rigorous  in  the  administration  of  justice  among  their 
subjects,  in  cases  where  their  own  power  and  passions  were 
not  compromised. 

It  is  very  different  when  the  powers  of  sovereignty  are 
delegated  to  the  head  of  an  aristocratic  faction,  rivalled  and 
pressed  closety  in  the  race  of  ambition  by  an  adverse  leader. 
His  brief  and  precarious  enjoyment  of  power  must  be  employed 
in  rewarding  his  partizans,  in  extending  his  influence,  in  oppress¬ 
ing  and  crushing  his  adversaries.  Even  Abou  Hassan,  the  most 
disinterested  of  all  viceroys,  forgot  not,  during  his  caliphate 
of  one  day,  to  send  a  douceur  of  one  thousand  pieces  of  gold 
to  his  own  household ;  and  the  Scottish  vicegerents,  raised  to 
power  by  the  strength  of  their  faction,  failed  not  to  embrace 
the  same  means  of  rewarding  them. 

The  administration  of  justice,  in  particular,  was  infected 
by  the  most  gross  partiality.  A  case  of  importance  scarcely 
occurred  in  which  there  was  not  some  ground  for  bias  or 
partiality  on  the  part  of  the  judges,  who  were  so  little  able  to 
withstand  the  temptation  that  the  adage,  ‘  Show  me  the  man, 
and  I  will  show  you  the  law,’  became  as  prevalent  as  it  was 
scandalous.  One  corruption  led  the  way  to  others  still  more 
gross  and  profligate.  The  judge  who  lent  his  sacred  authority 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  17 

in  one  case  to  support  a  friend,  and  in  another  to  crush  an 
enemy,  and  whose  decisions  were  founded  on  family  connexions 
or  political  relations,  could  not  be  supposed  inaccessible  to 
direct  personal  motives ;  and  the  purse  of  the  wealthy  was  too 
often  believed  to  he  thrown  into  the  scale  to  weigh  down  the 
cause  of  the  poor  litigant.  The  subordinate  officers  of  the  law 
affected  little  scruple  concerning  bribery.  Pieces  of  plate  and 
bags  of  money  were  sent  in  presents  to  the  king’s  counsel,  to 
influence  their  conduct,  and  poured  forth,  says  a  contemporary 
writer,  like  billets  of  wood  upon  their  floors,  without  even  the 
decency  of  concealment. 

In  such  times,  it  was  not  over  uncharitable  to  suppose  that 
the  statesman,  practised  in  courts  of  law,  and  a  powerful 
member  of  a  triumphant  cabal,  might  find  and  use  means  of 
advantage  over  his  less  skilful  and  less  favoured  adversary; 
and  if  it  had  been  supposed  that  Sir  William  Ashton’s  conscience 
had  been  too  delicate  to  profit  by  these  advantages,  it  was 
believed  that  his  ambition  and  desire  of  extending  his  wealth 
and  consequence  found  as  strong  a  stimulus  in  the  exhortations 
of  his  lady  as  the  daring  aim  of  Macbeth  in  the  days  of  yore. 

Lady  Ashton  was  of  a  family  more  distinguished  than  that 
of  her  lord,  an  advantage  which  she  did  not  fail  to  use  to  the 
uttermost,  in  maintaining  and  extending  her  husband’s  influence 
over  others,  and,  unless  she  was  greatly  belied,  her  own  over 
him.  She  had  been  beautiful,  and  was  stately  and  majestic  in 
her  appearance.  Endowed  by  nature  with  strong  powers  and 
violent  passions,  experience  had  taught  her  to  employ  the  one, 
and  to  conceal,  if  not  to  moderate,  the  other.  She  was  a  severe 
and  strict  observer  of  the  external  forms,  at  least,  of  devotion ; 
her  hospitality  was  splendid,  even  to  ostentation  ;  her  address 
and  manners,  agreeable  to  the  pattern  most  valued  in  Scotland 
at  the  period,  were  grave,  dignified,  and  severely  regulated  by 
the  rules  of  etiquette.  Her  character  had  always  been  beyond 
the  breath  of  slander.  And  yet,  with  all  these  qualities  to  ex¬ 
cite  respect,  Lady  Ashton  was  seldom  mentioned  in  the  terms 
of  love  or  affection.  Interest  —  the  interest  of  her  family,  if 
not  her  own  —  seemed  too  obviously  the  motive  of  her  actions ; 
and  where  this  is  the  case,  the  sharp-judging  and  malignant 
public  are  not  easily  imposed  upon  by  outward  show.  It  was 
seen  and  ascertained  that,  in  her  most  graceful  courtesies  and 
compliments,  Lady  Ashton  no  more  lost  sight  of  her  object 
than  the  falcon  in  his  airy  wheel  turns  his  quick  eyes  from  his 
destined  quarry ;  and  hence,  something  of  doubt  and  suspicion 

VOL.  VIII  —  2 


18 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


qualified  the  feelings  with  which  her  equals  received  her  atten¬ 
tions.  With  her  inferiors  these  feelings  were  mingled  with  fear ; 
an  impression  useful  to  her  purposes,  so  far  as  it  enforced  ready 
compliance  with  her  requests  and  implicit  obedience  to  her  com¬ 
mands,  but  detrimental,  because  it  cannot  exist  with  affection 
or  regard. 

Even  her  husband,  it  is  said,  upon  whose  fortunes  her  talents 
and  address  had  produced  such  emphatic  influence,  regarded 
her  with  respectful  awe  rather  than  confiding  attachment ;  and 
report  said,  there  were  times  when  he  considered  his  grandeur 
as  dearly  purchased  at  the  expense  of  domestic  thraldom.  Of 
this,  however,  much  might  be  suspected,  but  little  could  be 
accurately  known:  Lady  Ashton  regarded  the  honour  of  her 
husband  as  her  own,  and  was  well  aware  how  much  that  would 
suffer  in  the  public  eye  should  he  appear  a  vassal  to  his  wife. 
In  all  her  arguments  his  opinion  was  quoted  as  infallible ;  his 
taste  was  appealed  to,  and  his  sentiments  received,  with  the  air 
of  deference  which  a  dutiful  wife  might  seem  to  owe  to  a  hus¬ 
band  of  Sir  William  Ashton’s  rank  and  character.  But  there 
was  something  under  all  this  which  rung  false  and  hollow ;  and 
to  those  who  watched  this  couple  with  close,  and  perhaps 
malicious,  scrutiny  it  seemed  evident  that,  in  the  haughtiness 
of  a  firmer  character,  higher  birth,  and  more  decided  views  of 
aggrandisement,  the  lady  looked  with  some  contempt  on  her 
husband,  and  that  he  regarded  her  with  jealous  fear,  rather 
than  with  love  or  admiration. 

Still,  however,  the  leading  and  favourite  interests  of  Sir 
William  Ashton  and  his  lady  were  the  same,  and  they  failed 
not  to  work  in  concert,  although  without  cordiality,  and  to 
testify,  in  all  exterior  circumstances,  that  respect  for  each  other 
which  they  were  aware  was  necessary  to  secure  that  of  the 
public. 

Their  union  was  crowned  with  several  children,  of  whom 
three  survived.  One,  the  eldest  son,  was  absent  on  his  travels ; 
the  second,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  and  the  third,  a  boy  about  three 
years  younger,  resided  with  their  parents  in  Edinburgh  during 
the  sessions  of  the  Scottish  Parliament  and  Privy  Council,  at 
other  times  in  the  old  Gothic  castle  of  Ravenswood,  to  which 
the  Lord  Keeper  had  made  large  additions  in  the  style  of  the 
17  th  century. 

Allan  Lord  Ravenswood,  the  late  proprietor  of  that  ancient 
mansion  and  the  large  estate  annexed  to  it,  continued  for  some 
time  to  wage  ineffectual  war  with  his  successor  concerning 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


19 


various  points  to  which  their  former  transactions  had  given  rise, 
and  which  were  successively  determined  in  favour  of  the  wealthy 
and  powerful  competitor,  until  death  closed  the  litigation,  by 
summoning  Ravenswood  to  a  higher  bar.  The  thread  of  life, 
which  had  been  long  wasting,  gave  way  during  a  fit  of  violent 
and  impotent  fury  with  which  he  was  assailed  on  receiving  the 
news  of  the  loss  of  a  cause,  founded,  perhaps,  rather  in  equity 
than  in  law,  the  last  which  he  had  maintained  against  his 
powerful  antagonist.  His  son  witnessed  his  dying  agonies,  and 
heard  the  curses  which  he  breathed  against  his  adversary,  as  if 
they  had  conveyed  to  him  a  legacy  of  vengeance.  Other  cir¬ 
cumstances  happened  to  exasperate  a  passion  which  was,  and 
had  long  been,  a  prevalent  vice  in  the  Scottish  disposition. 

It  was  a  November  morning,  and  the  cliffs  which  overlooked 
the  ocean  were  hung  with  thick  and  heavy  mist,  when  the 
portals  of  the  ancient  and  half-ruinous  tower,  in  which  Lord 
Ravenswood  had  spent  the  last  and  troubled  years  of  his  life, 
opened,  that  his  mortal  remains  might  pass  forward  to  an  abode 
yet  more  dreary  and  lonely.  The  pomp  of  attendance,  to  which 
the  deceased  had,  in  his  latter  years,  been  a  stranger,  was  re¬ 
vived  as  he  was  about  to  be  consigned  to  the  realms  of  forget¬ 
fulness. 

Banner  after  banner,  with  the  various  devices  and  coats  of 
this  ancient  family  and  its  connexions,  followed  each  other  in 
mournful  procession  from  under  the  low-browed  archway  of 
the  courtyard.  The  principal  gentry  of  the  country  attended 
in  the  deepest  mourning,  and  tempered  the  pace  of  their 
long  train  of  horses  to  the  solemn  march  befitting  the  occasion. 
Trumpets,  with  banners  of  crape  attached  to  them,  sent  forth 
their  long  and  melancholy  notes  to  regulate  the  movements  of 
the  procession.  An  immense  train  of  inferior  mourners  and 
menials  closed  the  rear,  which  had  not  yet  issued  from  the 
castle  gate  when  the  van  had  reached  the  chapel  where  the 
body  was  to  be  deposited. 

Contrary  to  the  custom,  and  even  to  the  law,  of  the  time,  the 
body  was  met  by  a  priest  of  the  Scottish  Episcopal  communion, 
arrayed  in  his  surplice,  and  prepared  to  read  over  the  cofiin  of 
the  deceased  the  funeral  service  of  the  church.  Such  had  been 
the  desire  of  Lord  Ravenswood  in  his  last  illness,  and  it  was 
readily  complied  with  by  the  Tory  gentlemen,  or  Cavaliers,  as 
they  affected  to  style  themselves,  in  which  faction  most  of  his 
kinsmen  were  enrolled.  The  Presbyterian  Church  judicatory 
of  the  bounds,  considering  the  ceremony  as  a  bravading  insult 


20 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


upon  their  authority,  had  applied  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  as  the 
nearest  privy  councillor,  for  a  warrant  to  prevent  its  being 
carried  into  effect  -  so  that,  when  the  clergyman  had  opened 
his  prayer-book,  an  officer  of  the  law,  supported  by  some  armed 
men,  commanded  him  to  be  silent.  An  insult  which  fired  the 
whole  assembly  with  indignation  was  particularly  and  instantly 
resented  by  the  only  son  of  the  deceased,  Edgar,  popularly 
called  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  a  youth  of  about  twenty  years 
of  age.  He  clapped  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and,  bidding  the 
official  person  to  desist  at  his  peril  from  farther  interruption, 
commanded  the  clergyman  to  proceed.  The  man  attempted  to 
enforce  his  commission ;  but  as  an  hundred  swords  at  once 
glittered  in  the  air,  he  contented  himself  with  protesting  against 
the  violence  which  had  been  offered  to  him  in  the  execution  of 
his  duty,  and  stood  aloof,  a  sullen  and  moody  spectator  of  the 
ceremonial,  muttering  as  one  who  should  say,  ‘You’ll  rue  the 
day  that  clogs  me  with  this  answer.’ 

The  scene  was  worthy  of  an  artist’s  pencil.  Under  the  very 
arch  of  the  house  of  death,  the  clergyman,  affrighted  at  the 
scene,  and  trembling  for  his  own  safety,  hastily  and  unwillingly 
rehearsed  the  solemn  service  of  the  church,  and  spoke  ‘dust 
to  dust  and  ashes  to  ashes,’  over  ruined  pride  and  decayed 
prosperity.  Around  stood  the  relations  of  the  deceased,  their 
countenances  more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow,  and  the  drawn 
swords  which  they  brandished  forming  a  violent  contrast  with 
their  deep  mourning  habits.  In  the  countenance  of  the  young 
man  alone,  resentment  seemed  for  the  moment  overpowered  by 
the  deep  agony  with  which  he  beheld  his  nearest,  and  almost 
his  only,  friend  consigned  to  the  tomb  of  his  ancestry.  A 
relative  observed  him  turn  deadly  pale,  when,  all  rites  being 
now  duly  observed,  it  became  the  duty  of  the  chief  mourner  to 
lower  down  into  the  charnel  vault,  where  mouldering  coffins 
showed  their  tattered  velvet  and  decayed  plating,  the  head  of 
the  corpse  which  was  to  be  their  partner  in  corruption.  He 
stept  to  the  youth  and  offered  his  assistance,  which,  by  a  mute 
motion,  Edgar  Ravenswood  rejected.  Firmly,  and  without  a 
tear,  he  performed  that  last  duty.  The  stone  was  laid  on  the 
sepulchre,  the  door  of  the  aisle  was  locked,  and  the  youth  took 
possession  of  its  massive  key. 

As  the  crowd  left  the  chapel,  he  paused  on  the  steps  which 
led  to  its  Gothic  chancel.  ‘Gentlemen  and  friends,’  he  said, 

‘  you  have  this  day  done  no  common  duty  to  the  body  of  your 
deceased  kinsman.  The  rites  of  due  observance,  which,  in  other 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  21 

countries,  are  allowed  as  the  due  of  the  meanest  Christian, 
would  this  day  have  been  denied  to  the  body  of  your  relative  — 
not  certainly  sprung  of  the  meanest  house  in  Scotland  —  had  it 
not  been  assured  to  him  by  your  courage.  Others  bury  their 
dead  in  sorrow  and  tears,  in  silence  and  in  reverence  ;  our 
funeral  rites  are  marred  by  the  intrusion  of  bailiffs  and  ruffians, 
and  our  grief  —  the  grief  due  to  our  departed  friend  —  is  chased 
from  our  cheeks  by  the  glow  of  just  indignation.  But  it  is 
well  that  I  know  from  what  quiver  this  arrow  has  come  forth. 
It  was  only  he  that  dug  the  grave  who  could  have  the  mean 
cruelty  to  disturb  the  obsequies ;  and  Heaven  do  as  much  to 
me  and  more,  if  I  requite  not  to  this  man  and  his  house  the 
ruin  and  disgrace  he  has  brought  on  me  and  mine  !  ’ 

A  numerous  part  of  the  assembly  applauded  this  speech,  as 
the  spirited  expression  of  just  resentment;  but  the  more  cool 
and  judicious  regretted  that  it  had  been  uttered.  The  fortunes 
of  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  were  too  low  to  brave  the  farther 
hostility  which  they  imagined  these  open  expressions  of  resent¬ 
ment  must  necessarily  provoke.  Their  apprehensions,  however, 
proved  groundless,  at  least  in  the  immediate  consequences  of 
this  affair. 

The  mourners  returned  to  the  tower,  there,  according  to  a 
custom  but  recently  abolished  in  Scotland,  to  carouse  deep 
healths  to  the  memory  of  the  deceased,  to  make  the  house  of 
sorrow  ring  with  sounds  of  joviality  and  debauch,  and  to  diminish, 
by  the  expense  of  a  large  and  profuse  entertainment,  the  limited 
revenues  of  the  heir  of  him  whose  funeral  they  thus  strangely 
honoured.  It  was  the  custom,  however,  and  on  the  present 
occasion  it  was  fully  observed.  The  tables  swam  in  wine,  the 
populace  feasted  in  the  courtyard,  the  yeomen  in  the  kitchen 
and  buttery  ;  and  two  years’  rent  of  Ravenswood’s  remaining 
property  hardly  defrayed  the  charge  of  the  funeral  revel.  The 
wine  did  its  office  on  all  but  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  a 
title  which  he  still  retained,  though  forfeiture  had  attached  to 
that  of  his  father.  He,  while  passing  around  the  cup  which  he 
himself  did  not  taste,  soon  listened  to  a  thousand  exclamations 
against  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  passionate  protestations  of  attach¬ 
ment  to  himself,  and  to  the  honour  of  his  house.  He  listened 
with  dark  and  sullen  brow  to  ebullitions  which  he  considered 
justly  as  equally  evanescent  with  the  crimson  bubbles  on  the 
brink  of  the  goblet,  or  at  least  with  the  vapours  which  its 
contents  excited  in  the  brains  of  the  revellers  around  him. 

When  the  last  flask  was  emptied,  they  took  their  leave  with 


22 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


deep  protestations  —  to  be  forgotten  on  the  morrow,  if,  indeed, 
those  who  made  them  should  not  think  it  necessary  for  their 
safety  to  make  a  more  solemn  retractation. 

Accepting  their  adieus  with  an  air  of  contempt  which  he 
could  scarce  conceal,  Ravens  wood  at  length  beheld  his  ruinous 
habitation  cleared  of  this  confluence  of  riotous  guests,  and 
returned  to  the  deserted  hall,  which  now  appeared  doubly 
lonely  from  the  cessation  of  that  clamour  to  which  it  had  so 
lately  echoed.  But  its  space  was  peopled  by  phantoms  which 
the  imagination  of  the  young  heir  conjured  up  before  him  — 
the  tarnished  honour  and  degraded  fortunes  of  his  house,  the 
destruction  of  his  own  hopes,  and  the  triumph  of  that  family 
by  whom  they  had  been  ruined.  To  a  mind  naturally  of  a 
gloomy  cast  here  was  ample  room  for  meditation,  and  the 
musings  of  young  Ravenswood  were  deep  and  unwitnessed. 

The  peasant  who  shows  the  ruins  of  the  tower,  which  still 
crown  the  beetling  cliff  and  behold  the  war  of  the  waves,  though 
no  more  tenanted  save  by  the  sea-mew  and  cormorant,  even  yet 
affirms  that  on  this  fatal  night  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  by 
the  bitter  exclamations  of  his  despair,  evoked  some  evil  fiend, 
under  whose  malignant  influence  the  future  tissue  of  incidents 
was  woven.  Alas  !  what  fiend  can  suggest  more  desperate 
counsels  than  those  adopted  under  the  guidance  of  our  own 
violent  and  unresisted  passions  ? 


CHAPTER  III 


Over  G-ods  forebode,  then  said  the  King, 

That  thou  shouldst  shoot  at  me. 

W illiam  Bell ,  Glim  o'  the  Cleugh,  etc. 

ON  the  morning  after  the  funeral,  the  legal  officer  whose 
authority  had  been  found  insufficient  to  effect  an  in¬ 
terruption  of  the  funeral  solemnities  of  the  late  Lord 
Ravenswood,  hastened  to  state  before  the  Keeper  the  resistance 
which  he  had  met  with  in  the  execution  of  his  office. 

The  statesman  was  seated  in  a  spacious  library,  once  a 
banqueting-room  in  the  old  Castle  of  Ravenswood,  as  was 
evident  from  the  armorial  insignia  still  displayed  on  the  carved 
roof,  which  was  vaulted  with  Spanish  chestnut,  and  on  the 
stained  glass  of  the  casement,  through  which  gleamed  a  dim 
yet  rich  light  on  the  long  rows  of  shelves,  bending  under  the 
weight  of  legal  commentators  and  monkish  historians,  whose 
ponderous  volumes  formed  the  chief  and  most  valued  contents 
of  a  Scottish  historian  of  the  period.  On  the  massive  oaken 
table  and  reading-desk  lay  a  confused  mass  of  letters,  petitions, 
and  parchments ;  to  toil  amongst  which  was  the  pleasure  at  once 
and  the  plague  of  Sir  William  Ashton’s  life.  His  appear¬ 
ance  was  grave  and  even  noble,  well  becoming  one  who  held 
a  high  office  in  the  state ;  and  it  was  not  save  after  long  and 
intimate  conversation  with  him  upon  topics  of  pressing  and 
personal  interest,  that  a  stranger  could  have  discovered  some¬ 
thing  vacillating  and  uncertain  in  his  resolutions  ;  an  infirmity 
of  purpose,  arising  from  a  cautious  and  timid  disposition,  which, 
as  he  was  conscious  of  its  internal  influence  on  his  mind,  he 
was,  from  pride  as  well  as  policy,  most  anxious  to  conceal  from 
others. 

He  listened  with  great  apparent  composure  to  an  exagger¬ 
ated  account  of  the  tumult  which  had  taken  place  at  the 
funeral,  of  the  contempt  thrown  on  his  own  authority  and 


24 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


that  of  the  church  and  state ;  nor  did  he  seem  moved  even  by 
the  faithful  report  of  the  insulting  and  threatening  language 
which  had  been  uttered  by  young  Ravenswood  and  others,  and 
obviously  directed  against  himself.  He  heard,  also,  wrhat  the 
man  had  been  able  to  collect,  in  a  very  distorted  and  aggravated 
shape,  of  the  toasts  which  had  been  drunk,  and  the  menaces 
uttered,  at  the  subsequent  entertainment.  In  fine,  he  made 
careful  notes  of  all  these  particulars,  and  of  the  names  of  the 
persons  by  whom,  in  case  of  need,  an  accusation,  founded  upon 
these  violent  proceedings,  could  be  witnessed  and  made  good, 
and  dismissed  his  informer,  secure  that  he  was  now  master  of 
the  remaining  fortune,  and  even  of  the  personal  liberty,  of 
young  Ravenswood. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  officer  of  the  law,  the 
Lord  Keeper  remained  for  a  moment  in  deep  meditation  ;  then, 
starting  from  his  seat,  paced  the  apartment  as  one  about  to 
take  a  sudden  and  energetic  resolution.  ‘Young  Ravenswood,5 
he  muttered,  ‘  is  now  mine  —  he  is  my  own ;  he  has  placed 
himself  in  my  hand,  and  he  shall  bend  or  break.  I  have  not 
forgot  the  determined  and  dogged  obstinacy  with  which  his 
father  fought  every  point  to  the  last,  resisted  every  effort  at 
compromise,  embroiled  me  in  lawsuits,  and  attempted  to  assail 
my  character  when  he  could  not  otherwise  impugn  my  rights. 
This  boy  he  has  left  behind  him  — -  this  Edgar  —  this  hot-headed, 
hare-brained  fool,  has  wrecked  his  vessel  before  she  has  cleared 
the  harbour.  I  must  see  that  he  gains  no  advantage  of  some 
turning  tide  which  may  again  float  him  off.  These  memoranda, 
properly  stated  to  the  privy  council,  cannot  but  be  construed 
into  an  aggravated  riot,  in  which  the  dignity  both  of  the  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  authorities  stands  committed.  A  heavy  fine 
might  be  imposed  ;  an  order  for  committing  him  to  Edinburgh 
or  Blackness  Castle  seems  not  improper;  even  a  charge  of 
treason  might  he  laid  on  many  of  these  words  and  expressions, 
though  God  forbid  I  should  prosecute  the  matter  to  that  extent. 
No,  I  will  not;  I  will  not  touch  his  life,  even  if  it  should  be 
in  my  power ;  and  yet,  if  he  lives  till  a  change  of  times,  what 
follows  %  Restitution  —  perhaps  revenge.  I  knowr  Athole  prom¬ 
ised  his  interest  to  old  Ravenswood,  and  here  is  his  son  already 
bandying  and  making  a  faction  by  his  own  contemptible  in¬ 
fluence.  What  a  ready  tool  he  would  be  for  the  use  of  those 
who  are  watching  the  downfall  of  our  administration  ! 5 

While  these  thoughts  were  agitating  the  mind  of  the  wily 
statesman,  and  while  he  was  persuading  himself  that  his  own 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


25 


interest  and  safety,  as  well  as  those  of  his  friends  and  party, 
depended  on  using  the  present  advantage  to  the  uttermost 
against  young  Ravenswood,  the  Lord  Keeper  sat  down  to  his 
desk,  and  proceeded  to  draw  up,  for  the  information  of  the 
privy  council,  an  account  of  the  disorderly  proceedings  which, 
in  contempt  of  his  warrant,  had  taken  place  at  the  funeral  of 
Lord  Ravenswood.  The  names  of  most  of  the  parties  concerned, 
as  well  as  the  fact  itself,  would,  he  was  well  aware,  sound 
odiously  in  the  ears  of  his  colleagues  in  administration,  and 
most  likely  instigate  them  to  make  an  example  of  young 
Ravenswood,  at  least,  in  terrorem. 

It  was  a  point  of  delicacy,  however,  to  select  such  expressions 
as  might  infer  the  young  man’s  culpability,  without  seeming 
directly  to  urge  it,  which,  on  the  part  of  Sir  William  Ashton, 
his  father’s  ancient  antagonist,  could  not  but  appear  odious 
and  invidious.  W  bile  he  was  in  the  act  of  composition,  labour¬ 
ing  to  find  words  which  might  indicate  Edgar  Ravenswood  to 
be  the  cause  of  the  uproar,  without  specifically  making  such  a 
charge,  Sir  William,  in  a  pause  of  his  task,  chanced,  in  looking 
upward,  to  see  the  crest  of  the  family  for  whose  heir  he  was 
whetting  the  arrows  and  disposing  the  toils  of  the  law  carved 
upon  one  of  the  corbeilles  from  which  the  vaulted  roof  of  the 
apartment  sprung.  It  was  a  black  bull’s  head,  with  the  legend, 

‘  I  bide  my  time  ’  ;  and  the  occasion  upon  which  it  was  adopted 
mingled  itself  singularly  and  impressively  with  the  subject  of 
his  present  reflections. 

It  was  said  by  a  constant  tradition  that  a  Malisius  de  Ravens¬ 
wood  had,  in  ‘the  13th  century,  been  deprived  of  his  castles 
and  lands  by  a  powerful  usurper,  who  had  for  a  while  enjoyed 
his  spoils  in  quiet.  At  length,  on  the  eve  of  a  costly  banquet, 
Ravenswood,  who  had  watched  his  opportunity,  introduced  him¬ 
self  into  the  castle  with  a  small  band  of  faithful  retainers.  The 
serving  of  the  expected  feast  was  impatiently  looked  for  by  the 
guests,  and  clamorously  demanded  by  the  temporary  master  of 
the  castle.  Ravenswood,  who  had  assumed  the  disguise  of  a 
sewrer  upon  the  occasion,  answered,  in  a  stern  voice,  *  I  bide  my 
time  ’ ;  and  at  the  same  moment  a  bull’s  head,  the  ancient  symbol 
of  death,  was  placed  upon  the  table.  The  explosion  of  the 
conspiracy  took  place  upon  the  signal,  and  the  usurper  and  his 
followers  were  put  to  death.  Perhaps  there  was  something  in 
this  still  known  and  often  repeated  story  which  came  immedi¬ 
ately  home  to  the  breast  and  conscience  of  the  Lord  Keeper ;  for, 
putting  from  him  the  paper  on  which  he  had  begun  his  report, 


26 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  carefully  locking  the  memoranda  which  he  had  prepared 
into  a  cabinet  which  stood  beside  him,  he  proceeded  to  walk 
abroad,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  his  ideas,  and  reflect¬ 
ing  farther  on  the  consequences  of  the  step  which  he  was  about 
to  take,  ere  yet  they  became  inevitable. 

In  passing  through  a  large  Gothic  ante-room,  Sir  William 
Ashton  heard  the  sound  of  his  daughter’s  lute.  Music,  when 
the  performers  are  concealed,  affects  us  with  a  pleasure  mingled 
with  surprise,  and  reminds  us  of  the  natural  concert  of  birds 
among  the  leafy  bowers.  The  statesman,  though  little  accus¬ 
tomed  to  give  way  to  emotions  of  this  natural  and  simple 
class,  was  still  a  man  and  a  father.  He  stopped,  therefore,  and 
listened,  while  the  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton’s  voice  mingled 
with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to  which  some  one 
had  adapted  the  following  words  :  — 

*  Look  not  thou  on  beauty’s  charming, 

Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming, 

Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens, 

Speak  not  when  the  people  listens, . 

Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer, 

From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger, 

Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 

Easy  live  and  quiet  die.’ 

The  sounds  ceased,  and  the  Keeper  entered  his  daughter’s 
apartment. 

The  words  she  had  chosen  seemed  particularly  adapted  to  her 
character ;  for  Lucy  Ashton’s  exquisitely  beautiful,  yet  some¬ 
what  girlish  features  were  formed  to  express  peace  of  mind, 
serenity,  and  indifference  to  the  tinsel  of  worldly  pleasure.  Her 
locks,  which  were  of  shadowy  gold,  divided  on  a  brow  of  exquisite 
whiteness,  like  a  gleam  of  broken  and  pallid  sunshine  upon  a 
hill  of  snow.  The  expression  of  the  countenance  was  in  the  last 
degree  gentle,  soft,  timid,  and  feminine,  and  seemed  rather  to 
shrink  from  the  most  casual  look  of  a  stranger  than  to  court 
his  admiration.  Something  there  was  of  a  Madonna  cast, 
perhaps  the  result  of  delicate  health,  and  of  residence  in  a 
family  where  the  dispositions  of  the  inmates  were  fiercer,  more 
active,  and  energetic  than  her  own. 

Yet  her  passiveness  of  disposition  was  by  no  means  owing  to 
an  indifferent  or  unfeeling  mind.  Left  to  the  impulse  of  her 
own  taste  and  feelings,  Lucy  Ashton  was  peculiarly  accessible 
to  those  of  a  romantic  cast.  Her  secret  delight  was  in  the  old 
legendary  tales  of  ardent  devotion  and  unalterable  affection, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


n 


chequered  as  they  so  often  are  with  strange  adventures  and 
supernatural  horrors.  This  was  her  favoured  fairy  realm,  and 
here  she  erected  her  aerial  palaces.  But  it  was  only  in  secret 
that  she  laboured  at  this  delusive  though  delightful  archi¬ 
tecture.  In  her  retired  chamber,  or  in  the  woodland  bower 
which  she  had  chosen  for  her  own,  and  called  after  her  name, 
she  was  in  fancy  distributing  the  prizes  at  the  tournament,  or 
raining  down  influence  from  her  eyes  on  the  valiant  combatants ; 
or  she  was  wandering  in  the  wilderness  with  Una,  under  escort 
of  the  generous  lion ;  or  she  was  identifying  herself  with  the 
simple  yet  noble-minded  Miranda  in  the  isle  of  wonder  and 
enchantment. 

But  in  her  exterior  relations  to  things  of  this  world,  Lucy 
willingly  received  the  ruling  impulse  from  those  around  her. 
The  alternative  was,  in  general,  too  indifferent  to  her  to  render 
resistance  desirable,  and  she  willingly  found  a  motive  for 
decision  in  the  opinion  of  her  friends  which  perhaps  she  might 
have  sought  for  in  vain  in  her  own  choice.  Every  reader 
must  have  observed  in  some  family  of  his  acquaintance  some 
individual  of  a  temper  soft  and  yielding,  who,  mixed  with 
stronger  and  more  ardent  minds,  is  borne  along  by  the  will  of 
others,  with  as  little  power  of  opposition  as  the  flower  which  is 
flung  into  a  running  stream.  It  usually  happens  that  such  a 
compliant  and  easy  disposition,  which  resigns  itself  without 
murmur  to  the  guidance  of  others,  becomes  the  darling  of 
those  to  whose  inclinations  its  own  seem  to  be  offered,  in 
ungrudging  and  ready  sacrifice. 

This  was  eminently  the  case  with  Lucy  Ashton.  Her 
politic,  wary,  and  worldly  father  felt  for  her  an  affection  the 
strength  of  which  sometimes  surprised  him  into  an  unusual 
emotion.  Her  elder  brother,  who  trode  the  path  of  ambition 
with  a  haughtier  step  than  his  father,  had  also  more  of  human 
affection.  A  soldier,  and  in  a  dissolute  age,  he  preferred  his 
sister  Lucy  even  to  pleasure  and  to  military  preferment  and 
distinction.  Her  younger  brother,  at  an  age  when  trifles 
chiefly  occupied  his  mind,  made  her  the  confidante  of  all  his 
pleasures  and  anxieties,  his  success  in  field-sports,  and  his 
quarrels  with  his  tutor  and  instructors.  To  these  details,  how¬ 
ever  trivial,  Lucy  lent  patient  and  not  indifferent  attention. 
They  moved  and  interested  Henry,  and  that  was  enough  to 
secure  her  ear. 

Her  mother  alone  did  not  feel  that  distinguished  and  pre¬ 
dominating  affection  with  which  the  rest  of  the  family  cherished 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


28 

Lucy.  She  regarded  what  she  termed  her  daughter’s  want  of 
spirit  as  a  decided  mark  that  the  more  plebeian  blood  of  her 
father  predominated  in  Lucy’s  veins,  and  used  to  call  her  in 
derision  her  Lammermoor  Shepherdess.  To  dislike  so  gentle 
and  inoffensive  a  being  was  impossible ;  hut  Lady  Ashton  pre¬ 
ferred  her  eldest  son,  on  whom  had  descended  a  large  portion 
of  her  own  ambitious  and  undaunted  disposition,  to  a  daughter 
whose  softness  of  temper  seemed  allied  to  feebleness  of  mind. 
Her  eldest  son  was  the  more  partially  beloved  by  his  mother 
because,  contrary  to  the  usual  custom  of  Scottish  families  of 
distinction,  he  had  been  named  after  the  head  of  the  house. 

‘  My  Sholto,’  she  said,  ‘will  support  the  untarnished  honour 
of  his  maternal  house,  and  elevate  and  support  that  of  his 
father.  Poor  Lucy  is  unfit  for  courts  or  crowded  halls.  Some 
country  laird  must  be  her  husband,  rich  enough  to  supply  her 
with  every  comfort,  without  an  effort  on  her  own  part,  so  that 
she  may  have  nothing  co  shed  a  tear  for  but  the  tender  appre¬ 
hension  lest  he  may  break  his  neck  in  a  fox-chase.  It  was  not 
so,  however,  that  our  house  was  raised,  nor  is  it  so  that  it  can 
be  fortified  and  augmented.  The  Lord  Keeper’s  dignity  is  yet 
new ;  it  must  be  borne  as  if  we  were  used  to  its  weight,  worthy 
of  it,  and  prompt  to  assert  and  maintain  it.  Before  ancient 
authorities  men  bend  from  customary  and  hereditary  defer¬ 
ence  ;  in  our  presence  they  will  stand  erect,  unless  they  are 
compelled  to  prostrate  themselves.  A  daughter  fit  for  the 
sheepfold  or  the  cloister  is  ill  qualified  to  exact  respect  where 
it  is  yielded  with  reluctance ;  and  since  Heaven  refused  us  a 
third  boy,  Lucy  should  have  held  a  character  fit  to  supply  his 
place.  The  hour  will  be  a  happy  one  which  disposes  her  hand 
in  marriage  to  some  one  whose  energy  is  greater  than  her  own, 
or  whose  ambition  is  of  as  low  an  order.’ 

So  meditated  a  mother  to  whom  the  qualities  of  her 
children’s  hearts,  as  well  as  the  prospect  of  their  domestic 
happiness,  seemed  light  in  comparison  to  their  rank  and 
temporal  greatness.  But,  like  many  a  parent  of  hot  and 
impatient  character,  she  was  mistaken  in  estimating  the  feel¬ 
ings  of  her  daughter,  who,  under  a  semblance  of  extreme 
indifference,  nourished  the  germ  of  those  passions  which  some¬ 
times  spring  up  in  one  night,  like  the  gourd  of  the  prophet, 
and  astonish  the  observer  by  their  unexpected  ardour  and 
intensity.  In  fact,  Lucy’s  sentiments  seemed  chill  because 
nothing  had  occurred  to  interest  or  awaken  them.  Her  life  had 
hitherto  flowed  on  in  a  uniform  and  gentle  tenor,  and  happy 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOll  29 

/or  her  had  not  its  present  smoothness  of  current  resembled 
that  of  the  stream  as  it  glides  downwards  to  the  waterfall ! 

‘So,  Lucy,’  said  her  father,  entering  as  her  song  was  ended, 
‘  does  your  musical  philosopher  teach  you  to  contemn  the  world 
before  you  know  it  %  That  is  surely  something  premature.  Or 
did  you  but  speak  according  to  the  fashion  of  fair  maidens, 
who  are  always  to  hold  the  pleasures  of  life  in  contempt  till 
they  are  pressed  upon  them  by  the  address  of  some  gentle 
knight  1 ’ 

Lucy  blushed,  disclaimed  any  inference  respecting  her  own 
choice  being  drawn  from  her  selection  of  a  song,  and  readily 
laid  aside  her  instrument  at  her  father’s  request  that  she  would 
attend  him  in  his  walk. 

A  large  and  well- wooded  park,  or  rather  chase,  stretched 
along  the  hill  behind  the  castle,  which,  occupying,  as  we  have 
noticed,  a  pass  ascending  from  the  plain,  seemed  built  in  its 
very  gorge  to  defend  the  forest  ground  which  arose  behind  it 
in  shaggy  majesty.  Into  this  romantic  region  the  father  and 
daughter  proceeded,  arm  in  arm,  by  a  noble  avenue  overarched 
by  embowering  elms,  beneath  which  groups  of  the  fallow-deer 
were  seen  to  stray  in  distant  perspective.  As  they  paced  slowly 
on,  admiring  the  different  points  of  view,  for  which  Sir  William 
Ashton,  notwithstanding  the  nature  of  his  usual  avocations, 
had  considerable  taste  and  feeling,  they  were  overtaken  by 
the  forester,  or  park-keeper,  who,  intent  on  silvan  sport,  was 
proceeding  with  his  cross-bow  over  his  arm,  and  a  hound  led 
in  leash  by  his  boy,  into  the  interior  of  the  wood. 

‘  Going  to  shoot  us  a  piece  of  venison,  N orman  ?  ’  said  his 
master,  as  he  returned  the  woodman’s  salutation. 

‘  Saul,  your  honour,  and  that  I  am.  Will  it  please  you  to 
see  the  sport  ? ’ 

‘  0  no,’  said  his  lordship,  after  looking  at  his  daughter,  whose 
colour  fled  at  the  idea  of  seeing  the  deer  shot,  although,  had 
her  father  expressed  his  wish  that  they  should  accompany 
Norman,  it  was  probable  she  would  not  even  have  hinted  her 
reluctance. 

The  forester  shrugged  his  shoulders.  ‘  It  was  a  disheartening 
thing,’  he  said,  ‘  when  none  of  the  gentles  came  down  to  see  the 
sport.  He  hoped  Captain  Sholto  would  be  soon  hame,  or  he 
might  shut  up  his  shop  entirely ;  for  Mr.  Harry  was  kept  sae 
close  wi’  his  Latin  nonsense  that,  though  his  will  was  very  gude 
to  be  in  the  wood  from  morning  till  night,  there  would  be  a 
hopeful  lad  lost,  and  no  making  a  man  of  him.  It  was  not  so, 


30 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


he  had  heard,  in  Lord  Ravenswood’s  time  :  when  a  buck  was 
to  be  killed,  man  and  mother’s  son  ran  to  see  ;  and  when  the 
deer  fell,  the  knife  was  always  presented  to  the  knight,  and  he 
never  gave  less  than  a  dollar  for  the  compliment.  And  there 
was  Edgar  Ravenswood  —  Master  of  Ravenswood  that  is  now  — 
when  he  goes  up  to  the  wood  —  there  hasna  been  a  better  hunter 
since  Tristrem’s  time  —  when  Sir  Edgar  hauds  out,1  down  goes 
the  deer,  faith.  But  we  hae  lost  a’  sense  of  woodcraft  on  this 
side  of  the  hill.’ 

There  was  much  in  this  harangue  highly  displeasing  to  the 
Lord  Keeper’s  feelings ;  he  could  not  help  observing  that  his 
menial  despised  him  almost  avowedly  for  not  possessing  that 
taste  for  sport  which  in  those  times  was  deemed  the  natural 
and  indispensable  attribute  of  a  real  gentleman.  But  the 
master  of  the  game  is,  in  all  country  houses,  a  man  of  great 
importance,  and  entitled  to  use  considerable  freedom  of  speech. 
Sir  William,  therefore,  only  smiled  and  replied,  ‘  He  had  some¬ 
thing  else  to  think  upon  to-day  than  killing  deer  ’ ;  meantime, 
taking  out  his  purse,  he  gave  the  ranger  a  dollar  for  his 
encouragement.  The  fellow  received  it  as  the  waiter  of  a 
fashionable  hotel  receives  double  his  proper  fee  from  the  hands 
of  a  country  gentleman  —  that  is,  with  a  smile,  in  which  pleasure 
at  the  gift  is  mingled  with  contempt  for  the  ignorance  of  the 
donor.  ‘  Your  honour  is  the  bad  paymaster,’  he  said,  ‘  who  pays 
before  it  is  done.  What  would  you  do  were  I  to  miss  the  buck 
after  you  have  paid  me  my  wood-fee  ?  ’ 

‘I  suppose,’  said  the  Keeper,  smiling,  ‘you  would  hardly 
guess  what  I  mean  were  I  to  tell  you  of  a  condictio  indebiti  ?  ’ 

‘Not  I,  on  my  saul.  I  guess  it  is  some  law  phrase ;  but  sue 
a  beggar,  and  —  your  honour  knows  what  follows.  Well,  but  I 
will  be  just  with  you,  and  if  bow  and  brach  fail  not,  you  shall 
have  a  piece  of  game  two  fingers  fat  on  the  brisket.’ 

As  he  was  about  to  go  off,  his  master  again  called  him,  and 
asked,  as  if  by  accident,  whether  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  was 
actually  so  brave  a  man  and  so  good  a  shooter  as  the  world 
spoke  him. 

‘  Brave  !  —  brave  enough,  I  warrant  you,’  answered  Norman. 

‘  I  was  in  the  wood  at  Tyninghame  when  there  was  a  sort  of 
gallants  hunting  with  my  lord ;  on  my  saul,  there  was  a  buck 
turned  to  bay  made  us  all  stand  back  —  a  stout  old  Trojan  of 
the  first  head,  ten-tyned  branches,  and  a  brow  as  broad  as  e’er 
a  bullock’s.  Egad,  he  dashed  at  the  old  lord,  and  there  would 


1  Hauds  out.  Holds  out,  i.  e presents  his  piece. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


31 


have  been  inlake  among  the  peerage,  if  the  Master  had  not  whipt 
roundly  in,  and  hamstrung  him  with  his  cutlass.  He  was  but 
sixteen  then,  bless  his  heart !  ’ 

‘  And  is  he  as  ready  with  the  gun  as  with  the  couteau  1  ’ 
said  Sir  William. 

‘  He  11  strike  this  silver  dollar  out  from  beneath  my  finger  and 
thumb  at  fourscore  yards,  and  1 11  hold  it  out  for  a  gold  merk ; 
what  more  would  ye  have  of  eye,  hand,  lead,  and  gunpowder  ? 5 

‘  0,  no  more  to  be  wished,  certainly/  said  the  Lord  Keeper; 
‘  but  we  keep  you  from  your  sport,  Norman.  Good  morrow, 
good  Norman/ 

And,  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeoman  went  on  his 
road,  the  sound  of  his  rough  voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the 
distance  betwixt  them  increased  :  — 

‘  The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 

The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime  ; 

But  the  yeoman  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 

’T  is  time,  my  hearts,  ’t  is  time. 

‘  There ’s  bucks  and  raes  on  Bilhope  braes, 

There ’s  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw  ; 

But  a  lily-white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 

She ’s  fairly  worth  them  a’.’ 

‘Has  this  fellow/  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  when  the  yeoman’s 
song  had  died  on  the  wind,  ‘  ever  served  the  Ravenswood  people, 
that  he  seems  so  much  interested  in  them  “?  I  suppose  you 
know,  Lucy,  for  you  make  it  a  point  of  conscience  to  record 
the  special  history  of  every  boor  about  the  castle.’ 

‘  I  am  not  quite  so  faithful  a  chronicler,  my  dear  father ; 
but  I  believe  that  Norman  once  served  here  while  a  boy,  and 
before  he  went  to  Ledington,  whence  you  hired  him.  But  if 
you  want  to  know  anything  of  the  former  family,  Old  Alice  is 
the  best  authority.’ 

‘And  what  should  I  have  to  do  with  them,  pray,  Lucy,’  said 
her  father,  ‘  or  with  their  history  or  accomplishments  1  ’ 

‘Nay,  I  do  not  know,  sir ;  only  that  you  were  asking  ques¬ 
tions  of  Norman  about  young  Ravenswood.’ 

‘  Pshaw,  child !  ’  replied  her  father,  yet  immediately  added, 

‘  And  who  is  Old  Alice  ?  I  think  you  know  all  the  old  women 
in  the  country.’ 

‘  To  be  sure  I  do,  or  how  could  I  help  the  old  creatures 
when  they  are  in  hard  times  ?  And  as  to  Old  Alice,  she  is  the 
very  empress  of  old  women  and  queen  of  gossips,  so  far  as 


32 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOQR 


legendary  lore  is  concerned.  She  is  blind,  poor  old  soul,  but 
when  she  speaks  to  you,  you  would  think  she  has  some  way  of 
looking  into  your  very  heart.  I  am  sure  I  often  cover  my  face, 
or  turn  it  away,  for  it  seems  as  if  she  saw  one  change  colour, 
though  she  has  been  blind  these  twenty  j^ears.  She  is  worth 
visiting,  were  it  but  to  say  you  have  seen  a  blind  and  paralytic 
old  woman  have  so  much  acuteness  of  perception  and  dignity 
of  manners.  I  assure  you,  she  might  be  a  countess  from  her 
language  and  behaviour.  Come,  you  must  go  to  see  Alice ;  we 
are  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  her  cottage.’ 

‘All  this,  my  dear,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘is  no  answer  to 
my  question,  who  this  woman  is,  and  what  is  her  connexion 
with  the  former  proprietor’s  family  ?  ’ 

‘  0,  it  was  something  of  a  nouriceship,  I  believe  ;  and  she 
remained  here,  because  her  two  grandsons  were  engaged  in 
your  service.  But  it  was  against  her  will,  I  fancy ;  for  the 
poor  old  creature  is  always  regretting  the  change  of  times  and 
of  property.’ 

‘I  am  much  obliged  to  her,’  answered  the  Lord  Keeper. 
‘She  and  her  folk  eat  my  bread  and  drink  my  cup,  and  are 
lamenting  all  the  while  that  they  are  not  still  under  a  family 
which  never  could  do  good,  either  to  themselves  or  any  one 
else !  ’ 

‘Indeed,’  replied  Lucy,  ‘I  am  certain  you  do  Old  Alice  in¬ 
justice.  She  has  nothing  mercenary  about  her,  and  would  not 
accept  a  penny  in  charity,  if  it  were  to  save  her  from  being 
starved.  She  is  only  talkative,  like  all  old  folk  when  you 
put  them  on  stories  of  their  youth ;  and  she  speaks  about  the 
Bavenswood  people,  because  she  lived  under  them  so  many 
years.  But  I  am  sure  she  is  grateful  to  you,  sir,  for  your  pro¬ 
tection,  and  that  she  would  rather  speak  to  you  than  to  any 
other  person  in  the  whole  world  beside.  Do,  sir,  come  and  see 
Old  Alice.’ 

And  with  the  freedom  of  an  indulged  daughter  she  dragged 
the  Lord  Keeper  in  the  direction  she  desired. 


CHAPTER  IV 


Through  tops  of  the  high  trees  she  did  descry 
A  little  smoke,  whose  vapour,  thin  and  light, 

Reeking  aloft,  uprolled  to  the  sky, 

Which  cheerful  sign  did  send  unto  her  sight, 

That  in  the  same  did  wonne  some  living  wight. 

Spenser. 

1UCY  acted  as  her  father’s  guide,  for  he  was  too  much 
engrossed  with  his  political  labours,  or  with  society,  to 
be  perfectly  acquainted  with  his  own  extensive  domains, 
and,  moreover,  was  generally  an  inhabitant  of  the  city  of  Edin¬ 
burgh  ;  and  she,  on  the  other  hand,  had,  with  her  mother, 
resided  the  whole  summer  in  Ravenswood,  and,  partly  from 
taste,  partly  from  want  of  any  other  amusement,  had,  by  her 
frequent  rambles,  learned  to  know  each  lane,  alley,  dingle,  or 
bushy  dell, 

And  every  bosky  bourne  from  side  to  side. 


We  have  said  that  the  Lord  Keeper  was  not  indifferent  to 
the  beauties  of  nature ;  and  we  add,  in  justice  to  him,  that  he 
felt  them  doubly  when  pointed  out  by  the  beautiful,  simple, 
and  interesting  girl  who,  hanging  on  his  arm  with  filial  kind¬ 
ness,  now  called  him  to  admire  the  size  of  some  ancient  oak, 
and  now  the  unexpected  turn  where  the  path,  developing  its 
maze  from  glen  or  dingle,  suddenly  reached  an  eminence  com¬ 
manding  an  extensive  view  of  the  plains  beneath  them,  and 
then  gradually  glided  away  from  the  prospect  to  lose  itself 
among  rocks  and  thickets,  and  guide  to  scenes  of  deeper 
seclusion. 

It  was  when  pausing  on  one  of  those  points  of  extensive 
and  commanding  view  that  Lucy  told  her  father  they  were 
close  by  the  cottage  of  her  blind  protegee ;  and  on  turning 
from  the  little  hill,  a  path  which  led  around  it,  wrorn  by  the 
daily  steps  of  the  infirm  inmate,  brought  them  in  sight  of  the 

VOL.  VIII  —  3 


34 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


hut,  which,  embosomed  in  a  deep  and  obscure  dell,  seemed  to 
have  been  so  situated  purposely  to  bear  a  correspondence  with 
the  darkened  state  of  its  inhabitant. 

The  cottage  was  situated  immediately  under  a  tall  rock, 
which  in  some  measure  beetled  over  it,  as  if  threatening  to 
drop  some  detached  fragment  from  its  brow  on  the  frail  tene¬ 
ment  beneath.  The  hut  itself  was  constructed  of  turf  and 
stones,  and  rudely  roofed  over  with  thatch,  much  of  which  was 
in  a  dilapidated  condition.  The  thin  blue  smoke  rose  from  it 
in  a  light  column,  and  curled  upward  along  the  white  face  of 
the  incumbent  rock,  giving  the  scene  a  tint  of  exquisite  soft¬ 
ness.  In  a  small  and  rude  garden,  surrounded  by  straggling 
elder-bushes,  which  formed  a  sort  of  imperfect  hedge,  sat  near 
to  the  bee-hives,  by  the  produce  of  which  she  lived,  that 
‘  woman  old  ’  whom  Lucy  had  brought  her  father  hither  to 
visit. 

Whatever  there  had  been  which  was  disastrous  in  her  for¬ 
tune,  whatever  there  was  miserable  in  her  dwelling,  it  was 
easy  to  judge  by  the  first  glance  that  neither  years,  poverty, 
misfortune,  nor  infirmity  had  broken  the  spirit  of  this  remark¬ 
able  woman. 

She  occupied  a  turf  seat,  placed  under  a  weeping  birch  of 
unusual  magnitude  and  age,  as  Judah  is  represented  sitting 
under  her  palm-tree,  with  an  air  at  once  of  majesty  and  of 
dejection.  Her  figure  was  tall,  commanding,  and  but  little  bent 
by  the  infirmities  of  old  age.  Her  dress,  though  that  of  a 
peasant,  was  uncommonly  clean,  forming  in  that  particular  a 
strong  contrast  to  most  of  her  rank,  and  was  disposed  with  an 
attention  to  neatness,  and  even  to  taste,  equally  unusual.  But 
it  was  her  expression  of  countenance  which  chiefly  struck  the 
spectator,  and  induced  most  persons  to  address  her  with  a 
degree  of  deference  and  civility  very  inconsistent  with  the 
miserable  state  of  her  dwelling,  and  which,  nevertheless,  she 
received  with  that  easy  composure  which  showed  she  felt  it  to 
be  her  due.  She  had  once  been  beautiful,  but  her  beauty  had 
been  of  a  bold  and  masculine  cast,  such  as  does  not  survive  the 
bloom  of  youth ;  yet  her  features  continued  to  express  strong 
sense,  deep  reflection,  and  a  character  of  sober  pride,  which,  as 
we  have  already  said  of  her  dress,  appeared  to  argue  a  conscious 
superiority  to  those  of  her  own  rank.  It  scarce  seemed  possible 
that  a  face,  deprived  of  the  advantage  of  sight,  could  have 
expressed  character  so  strongly ;  but  her  eyes,  which  were 
almost  totally  closed,  did  not,  by  the  display  of  their  sightless 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


35 


orbs,  mar  the  countenance  to  which  they  could  add  nothing. 
She  seemed  in  a  ruminating  posture,  soothed,  perhaps,  by  the 
murmurs  of  the  busy  tribe  around  her  to  abstraction,  though 
not  to  slumber. 

Lucy  undid  the  latch  of  the  little  garden  gate,  and  solicited 
the  old  woman’s  attention.  ‘  My  father,  Alice,  is  come  to  see 
you.’ 

‘He  is  welcome,  Miss  Ashton,  and  so  are  you,’  said  the  old 
woman,  turning  and  inclining  her  head  towards  her  visitors. 

‘This  is  a  fine  morning  for  your  bee-hives,  mother,’  said  the 
Lord  Keeper,  who,  struck  with  the  outward  appearance  of  Alice, 
was  somewhat  curious  to  know  if  her  conversation  would  corre¬ 
spond  with  it. 

‘  I  believe  so,  my  lord,’  she  replied;  ‘I  feel  the  air  breathe 
milder  than  of  late.’ 

‘You  do  not,’  resumed  the  statesman,  ‘take  charge  of  these 
bees  yourself,  mother  h  How  do  you  manage  them  ?  ’ 

‘By  delegates,  as  kings  do  their  subjects,’  resumed  Alice; 
‘and  I  am  fortunate  in  a  prime  minister.  Here,  Babie.’ 

She  whistled  on  a  small  silver  call  which  hung  around  her 
neck,  and  which  at  that  time  was  sometimes  used  to  summon 
domestics,  and  Babie,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  made  her  appearance  from 
the  hut,  not  altogether  so  cleanly  arrayed  as  she  would  probably 
have  been  had  Alice  had  the  use  of  her  eyes,  but  with  a  greater 
air  of  neatness  than  was  upon  the  whole  to  have  been  expected. 

‘Babie,’  said  her  mistress,  ‘offer  some  bread  and  honey  to 
the  Lord  Keeper  and  Miss  Ashton ;  they  will  excuse  your  awk¬ 
wardness  if  you  use  cleanliness  and  despatch.’ 

Babie  performed  her  mistress’s  command  with  the  grace 
which  was  naturally  to  have  been  expected,  moving  to  and  fro 
with  a  lobster- like  gesture,  her  feet  and  legs  tending  one  way, 
while  her  head,  turned  in  a  different  direction,  was  fixed  in 
wonder  upon  the  laird,  who  was  more  frequently  heard  of  than 
seen  by  his  tenants  and  dependants.  The  bread  and  honey, 
however,  deposited  on  a  plantain  leaf,  was  offered  and  accepted 
in  all  due  courtesy.  The  Lord  Keeper,  still  retaining  the  place 
which  he  had  occupied  on  the  decayed  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
looked  as  if  he  'wished  to  prolong  the  interview,  but  was  at  a 
loss  how  to  introduce  a  suitable  subject. 

‘  You  have  been  long  a  resident  on  this  property  1  ’  he  said, 
after  a  pause. 

‘  It  is  now  nearly  sixty  years  since  I  first  knew  Ravenswood,’ 
answered  the  old  dame,  whose  conversation,  though  perfectly 


36 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


civil  and  respectful,  seemed  cautiously  limited  to  the  unavoid¬ 
able  and  necessary  task  of  replying  to  Sir  William. 

‘  You  are  not,  I  should  judge  by  your  accent,  of  this  country 
originally  %  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  in  continuation. 

‘  No  ;  I  am  by  birth  an  Englishwoman.’ 

‘Yet  you  seem  attached  to  this  country  as  if  it  were  your 
own.  ’ 

‘It  is  here,’  replied  the  blind  woman,  ‘that  I  have  drunk 
the  cup  of  joy  and  of  sorrow  which  Heaven  destined  for  me.  I 
was  here  the  wife  of  an  upright  and  affectionate  husband  for 
more  than  twenty  years ;  I  was  here  the  mother  of  six  prom¬ 
ising  children ;  it  was  here  that  God  deprived  me  of  all  these 
blessings ;  it  was  here  they  died,  and  yonder,  by  yon  ruined 
chapel,  they  lie  all  buried.  I  had  no  country  but  theirs 
while  they  lived ;  I  have  none  but  theirs  now  they  are  no 
more.  ’ 

‘But  your  house,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  looking  at  it,  ‘is 
miserably  ruinous  ?  ’ 

‘Do,  my  dear  father,’  said  Lucy,  eagerly,  yet  bashfully, 
catching  at  the  hint,  ‘  give  orders  to  make  it  better  •  that  is, 
if  you  think  it  proper.’ 

‘  It  will  last  my  time,  my  dear  Miss  Lucy,  ’  said  the  blind 
woman ;  ‘  I  would  not  have  my  lord  give  himself  the  least 
trouble  about  it.’ 

‘But,’  said  Lucy,  ‘you  once  had  a  much  better  house,  and 
were  rich,  and  now  in  your  old  age  to  live  in  this  hovel !  ’ 

‘  It  is  as  good  as  I  deserve,  Miss  Lucy ;  if  my  heart  has  not 
broke  with  what  I  have  suffered,  and  seen  others  suffer,  it  must 
have  been  strong  enough,  and  the  rest  of  this  old  frame  has  no 
right  to  call  itself  weaker.’ 

‘  You  have  probably  witnessed  many  changes,’  said  the  Lord 
Keeper  ;  ‘  but  your  experience  must  have  taught  you  to  expect 
them.’ 

‘  It  has  taught  me  to  endure  them,  my  lord,’  was  the  reply. 

‘  Yet  you  knew  that  they  must  needs  arrive  in  the  course  of 
years  ?  ’  said  the  statesman. 

‘  Ay  ;  as  I  know  that  the  stump,  on  or  beside  which  you  sit, 
once  a  tall  and  lofty  tree,  must  needs  one  day  fall  by  decay,  or 
by  the  axe ;  yet  I  hoped  my  eyes  might  not  witness  the  down¬ 
fall  of  the  tree  which  overshadowed  my  dwelling.’ 

‘Do  not  suppose,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘that  you  will  lose 
any  interest  with  me  for  looking  back  with  regret  to  the  days 
when  another  family  possessed  my  estates.  You  had  reason, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


37 


doubtless,  to  love  them,  and  I  respect  your  gratitude.  I  will 
order  some  repairs  in  your  cottage,  and  I  hope  we  shall  live  to 
be  friends  when  we  know  each  other  better.’ 

‘  Those  of  my  age,’  returned  the  dame,  ‘  make  no  new  friends. 
I  thank  you  for  your  bounty,  it  is  well  intended  undoubtedly ; 
but  I  have  all  I  want,  and  I  cannot  accept  more  at  your 
lordship’s  hands.’ 

‘Well,  then,’  continued  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘at  least  allow  me 
to  say,  that  I  look  upon  you  as  a  woman  of  sense  and  education 
beyond  your  appearance,  and  that  I  hope  you  will  continue  to 
reside  on  this  property  of  mine  rent-free  for  your  life.’ 

‘  I  hope  I  shall,’  said  the  old  dame,  composedly  ;  ‘  I  believe 
that  was  made  an  article  in  the  sale  of  Ptavenswood  to  your 
lordship,  though  such  a  trifling  circumstance  may  have  escaped 
your  recollection.’ 

‘  I  remember  —  I  recollect,’  said  his  lordship,  somewhat  con¬ 
fused.  ‘I  perceive  you  are  too  much  attached  to  your  old 
friends  to  accept  any  benefit  from  their  successor.’ 

‘  Far  from  it,  my  lord ;  I  am  grateful  for  the  benefits  which 
I  decline,  and  I  wish  I  could  pay  you  for  offering  them,  better 
than  what  I  am  now  about  to  say.’  The  Lord  Keeper  looked 
at  her  in  some  surprise,  but  said  not  a  word.  ‘My  lord,’  she 
continued,  in  an  impressive  and  solemn  tone,  ‘  take  care  what 
you  do ;  you  are  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice.’ 

‘  Indeed  ?  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  his  mind  reverting  to  the 
political  circumstances  of  the  country.  ‘  Has  anything  come  to 
your  knowledge  —  any  plot  or  conspiracy  'l  ’ 

‘  No,  my  lord ;  those  who  traffic  in  such  commodities  do  not 
call  into  their  councils  the  old,  blind,  and  infirm.  My  warning 
is  of  another  kind.  You  have  driven  matters  hard  with  the 
house  of  Ravens  wood.  Believe  a  true  tale  :  they  are  a  fierce 
house,  and  there  is  danger  in  dealing  with  men  when  they 
become  desperate.’ 

‘  Tush,’  answered  the  Keeper;  ‘what  has  been  between  us 
has  been  the  work  of  the  law,  not  my  doing  ;  and  to  the  law 
they  must  look,  if  they  would  impugn  my  proceedings.’ 

‘  Ay,  but  they  may  think  otherwise,  and  take  the  law  into 
their  own  hand,  when  they  fail  of  other  means  of  redress.’ 

‘  What  mean  you  1  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper.  ‘  Young  Ravens- 
wood  would  not  have  recourse  to  personal  violence  ?  ’ 

‘  God  forbid  I  should  say  so  !  I  know  nothing  of  the  youth 
but  what  is  honourable  and  open.  Honourable  and  open,  said 
I  ?  I  should  have  added,  free,  generous,  noble.  But  he  is  still 


38 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


a  Ravenswood,  and  may  bide  his  time.  Remember  the  fate  of 
Sir  George  Lockhart.  ’ 1 

The  Lord  Keeper  started  as  she  called  to  his  recollection  a 
tragedy  so  deep  and  so  recent.  The  old  woman  proceeded  : 

‘  Chiesley,  who  did  the  deed,  was  a  relative  of  Lord  Ravenswood. 
In  the  hall  of  Ravenswood,  in  my  presence  and  in  that  of 
others,  he  avowed  publicly  his  determination  to  do  the  cruelty 
which  he  afterwards  committed.  I  could  not  keep  silence, 
though  to  speak  it  ill  became  my  station.  “  You  are  devising 
a  dreadful  crime,”  I  said,  “for  which  you  must  reckon  before 
the  judgment  seat.”  Never  shall  I  forget  his  look,  as  he 
replied,  “  I  must  reckon  then  for  many  things,  and  will  reckon 
for  this  also.”  Therefore  I  may  well  say,  beware  of  pressing  a 
desperate  man  with  the  hand  of  authority.  There  is  blood  of 
Chiesley  in  the  veins  of  Pmvenswood,  and  one  drop  of  it  were 
enough  to  fire  him  in  the  circumstances  in  which  he  is  placed. 
I  say,  beware  of  him/ 

The  old  dame  had,  either  intentionally  or  by  accident, 
harped  aright  the  fear  of  the  Lord  Keeper.  The  desperate 
and  dark  resource  of  private  assassination,  so  familiar  to  a 
Scottish  baron  in  former  times,  had  even  in  the  present  age 
been  too  frequently  resorted  to  under  the  pressure  of  unusual 
temptation,  or  where  the  mind  of  the  actor  was  prepared  for 
such  a  crime.  Sir  William  Ashton  was  aware  of  this  ;  as  also 
that  young  Ravenswood  had  received  injuries  sufficient  to 
prompt  him  to  that  sort  of  revenge,  which  becomes  a  frequent 
though  fearful  consequence  of  the  partial  administration  of 
justice.  He  endeavoured  to  disguise  from  Alice  the  nature  of 
the  apprehensions  which  he  entertained ;  but  so  ineffectually, 
that  a  person  even  of  less  penetration  than  nature  had  endowed 
her  with  must  necessarily  have  been  aware  that  the  subject 
lay  near  his  bosom.  His  voice  was  changed  in  its  accent  as  he 
replied  to  her,  ‘  That  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  was  a  man  of 
honour ;  and,  were  it  otherwise,  that  the  fate  of  Chiesley  of 
Dairy  was  a  sufficient  warning  to  any  one  who  should  dare  to 
assume  the  office  of  avenger  of  his  own  imaginary  wrongs.’ 
And  having  hastily  uttered  these  expressions,  he  rose  and  left 
the  place  without  waiting  for  a  reply. 


1  See  Note  1. 


CHAPTER  V 


Is  she  a  Capulet  ? 

0  dear  account  !  my  life  is  my  foe’s  debt. 

Shakespeare. 

THE  Lord  Keeper  walked  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  profound  silence.  His  daughter,  naturally  timid, 
and  bred  up  in  those  ideas  of  filial  awe  and  implicit 
obedience  which  were  inculcated  upon  the  youth  of  that  period, 
did  not  venture  to  interrupt  his  meditations. 

‘Why  do  you  look  so  pale,  Lucy1?  ’  said  her  father,  turning 
suddenly  round  and  breaking  silence. 

According  to  the  ideas  of  the  time,  which  did  not  permit 
a  young  woman  to  offer  her  sentiments  on  any  subject  of 
importance  unless  especially  required  to  do  so,  Lucy  was  bound 
to  appear  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  all  that  had  passed 
betwixt  Alice  and  her  father,  and  imputed  the  emotion  he 
had  observed  to  the  fear  of  the  wild  cattle  which  grazed  in 
that  part  of  the  extensive  chase  through  which  they  were  now 
walking. 

Of  these  animals,  the  descendants  of  the  savage  herds  which 
anciently  roamed  free  in  the  Caledonian  forests,  it  was  formerly 
a  point  of  state  to  preserve  a  few  in  the  parks  of  the  Scottish 
nobility.  Specimens  continued  within  the  memory  of  man  to  be 
kept  at  least  at  three  houses  of  distinction  —  namely,  Hamilton, 
Drumlanrick,  and  Cumbernauld.  They  had  degenerated  from 
the  ancient  race  in  size  and  strength,  if  we  are  to  judge  from 
the  accounts  of  old  chronicles,  and  from  the  formidable  remains 
frequently  discovered  in  bogs  and  morasses  when  drained  and 
laid  open.  The  bull  had  lost  the  shaggy  honours  of  his  mane, 
and  the  race  was  small  and  light  made,  in  colour  a  dingy  white, 
or  rather  a  pale  yellow,  with  black  horns  and  hoofs.  They  re¬ 
tained,  however,  in  some  measure,  the  ferocity  of  their  ancestry, 
could  not  be  domesticated  on  account  of  their  antipathy  to 


40 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


the  human  race,  and  were  often  dangerous  if  approached  un¬ 
guardedly,  or  wantonly  disturbed.  It  was  this  last  reason 
which  has  occasioned  their  being  extirpated  at  the  places  we 
have  mentioned,  where  probably  they  would  otherwise  have 
been  retained  as  appropriate  inhabitants  of  a  Scottish  wood¬ 
land,  and  fit  tenants  for  a  baronial  forest.  A  few,  if  I  mistake 
not,  are  still  preserved  at  Chillingham  Castle,  in  Northumber¬ 
land,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Tankerville. 

It  was  to  her  finding  herself  in  the  vicinity  of  a  group  of 
three  or  four  of  these  animals,  that  Lucy  thought  proper  to 
impute  those  signs  of  fear  which  had  arisen  in  her  countenance 
for  a  different  reason.  For  she  had  been  familiarised  with  the 
appearance  of  the  wild  cattle  during  her  walks  in  the  chase ; 
and  it  was  not  then,  as  it  may  be  now,  a  necessary  part  of  a 
young  lady’s  demeanour,  to  indulge  in  causeless  tremors  of  the 
nerves.  On  the  present  occasion,  however,  she  speedily  found 
cause  for  real  terror. 

Lucy  had  scarcely  replied  to  her  father  in  the  words  we 
have  mentioned,  and  he  was  just  about  to  rebuke  her  supposed 
timidity,  when  a  bull,  stimulated  either  by  the  scarlet  colour 
of  Miss  Ashton’s  mantle,  or  by  one  of  those  fits  of  capricious 
ferocity  to  which  their  dispositions  are  liable,  detached  him¬ 
self  suddenly  from  the  group  which  was  feeding  at  the  upper 
extremity  of  a  grassy  glade,  that  seemed  to  lose  itself  among 
the  crossing  and  entangled  boughs.  The  animal  approached 
the  intruders  on  his  pasture  ground,  at  first  slowly,  pawing  the 
ground  with  his  hoof,  bellowing  from  time  to  time,  and  tear¬ 
ing  up  the  sand  with  his  horns,  as  if  to  lash  himself  up  to 
rage  and  violence. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  who  observed  the  animal’s  demeanour, 
was  aware  that  he  was  about  to  become  mischievous,  and, 
drawing  his  daughter’s  arm  under  his  own,  began  to  walk  fast 
along  the  avenue,  in  hopes  to  get  out  of  his  sight  and  his 
reach.  This  wTas  the  most  injudicious  course  he  could  have 
adopted,  for,  encouraged  by  the  appearance  of  flight,  the  bull 
began  to  pursue  them  at  full  speed.  Assailed  by  a  danger  so 
imminent,  firmer  courage  than  that  of  the  Lord  Keeper  might 
have  given  way.  But  paternal  tenderness,  ‘  love  strong  as 
death,’  sustained  him.  He  continued  to  support  and  drag  on¬ 
ward  his  daughter,  until  her  fears  altogether  depriving  her  of 
the  power  of  flight,  she  sunk  down  by  his  side ;  and  when  he 
could  no  longer  assist  her  to  escape,  he  turned  round  and 
placed  himself  betwdxt  her  and  the  raging  animal,  which,  ad- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


41 


vancing  in  full  career,  its  brutal  fury  enhanced  by  the  rapidity 
of  the  pursuit,  was  now  within  a  few  yards  of  them.  The 
Lord  Keeper  had  no  weapons;  his  age  and  gravity  dispensed 
even  with  the  usual  appendage  of  a  walking  sword  —  could 
such  appendage  have  availed  him  anything. 

It  seemed  inevitable  that  the  father  or  daughter,  or  both, 
should  have  fallen  victims  to  the  impending  danger,  when  a 
shot  from  the  neighbouring  thicket  arrested  the  progress  of 
the  animal.  He  was  so  truly  struck  between  the  junction  of 
the  spine  with  the  skull,  that  the  wround,  which  in  any  other 
part  of  his  body  might  scarce  have  impeded  his  career,  proved 
instantly  fatal.  Stumbling  forward  with  a  hideous  bellow,  the 
progressive  force  of  his  previous  motion,  rather  than  any  opera¬ 
tion  of  his  limbs,  carried  him  up  to  within  three  yards  of  the 
astonished  Lord  Keeper,  where  he  rolled  on  the  ground,  his 
limbs  darkened  with  the  black  death-sweat,  and  quivering  with 
the  last  convulsions  of  muscular  motion. 

Lucy  lay  senseless  on  the  ground,  insensible  of  the  wonderful 
deliverance  which  she  had  experienced.  Her  father  was  almost 
equally  stupified,  so  rapid  and  unexpected  had  been  the  tran¬ 
sition  from  the  horrid  death  wdiich  seemed  inevitable  to  perfect 
security.  He  gazed  on  the  animal,  terrible  even  in  death,  with 
a  species  of  mute  and  confused  astonishment,  which  did  not 
permit  him  distinctly  to  understand  what  had  taken  place; 
and  so  inaccurate  was  his  consciousness  of  what  had  passed, 
that  he  might  have  supposed  the  bull  had  been  arrested  in 
its  career  by  a  thunderbolt,  had  he  not  observed  among  the 
branches  of  the  thicket  the  figure  of  a  man,  with  a  short  gun 
or  musquetoon  in  his  hand. 

This  instantly  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  their  situation:  a 
glance  at  his  daughter  reminded  him  of  the  necessity  of  procur¬ 
ing  her  assistance.  He  called  to  the  man,  wThom  he  concluded 
to  be  one  of  his  foresters,  to  give  immediate  attention  to  Miss 
Ashton,  while  he  himself  hastened  to  call  assistance.  The 
huntsman  approached  them  accordingly,  and  the  Lord  Keeper 
saw  he  was  a  stranger,  but  was  too  much  agitated  to  make 
any  farther  remarks.  In  a  few  hurried  words  he  directed  the 
shooter,  as  stronger  and  more  active  than  himself,  to  carry  the 
young  lady  to  a  neighbouring  fountain,  while  he  went  back  to 
Alice’s  hut  to  procure  more  aid. 

The  man  to  whose  timely  interference  they  had  been  so 
much  indebted  did  not  seem  inclined  to  leave  his  good  work 
half  finished.  He  raised  Lucy  from  the  ground  in  his  arms, 


42 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  conveying  her  through  the  glades  of  the  forest  by  paths 
with  which  he  seemed  well  acquainted,  stopped  not  until  he 
laid  her  in  safety  by  the  side  of  a  plentiful  and  pellucid  fountain, 
which  had  been  once  covered  in,  screened  and  decorated  with 
architectural  ornaments  of  a  Gothic  character.  But  now  the 
vault  which  had  covered  it  being  broken  down  and  riven,  and 
the  Gothic  font  ruined  and  demolished,  the  stream  burst  forth 
from  the  recess  of  the  earth  in  open  day,  and  winded  its  way 
among  the  broken  sculpture  and  moss-grown  stones  wThich  lay 
in  confusion  around  its  source. 

Tradition,  always  busy,  at  least  in  Scotland,  to  grace  with  a 
legendary  tale  a  spot  in  itself  interesting,  had  ascribed  a  cause 
of  peculiar  veneration  to  this  fountain.  A  beautiful  young 
lady  met  one  of  the  Lords  of  Bavenswood  while  hunting  near 
this  spot,  and,  like  a  second  Egeria,  had  captivated  the  affec¬ 
tions  of  the  feudal  Numa.  They  met  frequently  afterwards, 
and  always  at  sunset,  the  charms  of  the  nymph’s  mind  com¬ 
pleting  the  conquest  which  her  beauty  had  begun,  and  the 
mystery  of  the  intrigue  adding  zest  to  both.  She  always 
appeared  and  disappeared  close  by  the  fountain,  with  wdiich, 
therefore,  her  lover  judged  she  had  some  inexplicable  connexion. 
She  placed  certain  restrictions  on  their  intercourse,  which  also 
savoured  of  mystery.  They  met  only  once  a-week — Friday 
was  the  appointed  day  —  and  she  explained  to  the  Lord  of 
Bavenswood  that  they  were  under  the  necessity  of  separating 
so  soon  as  the  bell  of  a  chapel,  belonging  to  a  hermitage  in  the 
adjoining  wood,  now  long  ruinous,  should  toll  the  hour  of 
vespers.  In  the  course  of  his  confession,  the  Baron  of  Bavens¬ 
wood  entrusted  the  hermit  with  the  secret  of  this  singular 
amour,  and  Father  Zachary  drew  the  necessary  and  obvious 
consequence  that  his  patron  was  enveloped  in  the  toils  of  Satan, 
and  in  danger  of  destruction,  both  to  body  and  soul.  He  urged 
these  perils  to  the  Baron  with  all  the  force  of  monkish  rhetoric, 
and  described,  in  the  most  frightful  colours,  the  real  character 
and  person  of  the  apparently  lovely  Naiad,  vThom  he  hesitated 
not  to  denounce  as  a  limb  of  the  kingdom  of  darkness.  The 
lover  listened  with  obstinate  incredulity ;  and  it  was  not  until 
worn  out  by  the  obstinacy  of  the  anchoret  that  he  consented 
to  put  the  state  and  condition  of  his  mistress  to  a  certain  trial, 
and  for  that  purpose  acquiesced  in  Zachary’s  proposal  that  on 
their  next  interview  the  vespers’  bell  should  be  rung  half  an 
hour  later  than  usual.  The  hermit  maintained  and  bucklered 
his  opinion,  by  quotations  from  Malleus  Malijicarum ,  Spren- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


43 


gerus,  Remigius,  and  other  learned  demonologists,  that  the  Evil 
One,  thus  seduced  to  remain  behind  the  appointed  hour,  would 
assume  her  true  shape,  and,  having  appeared  to  her  terrified 
lover  as  a  fiend  of  hell,  would  vanish  from  him  in  a  flash  of 
sulphurous  lightning.  Raymond  of  Ravenswood  acquiesced  in 
the  experiment,  not  incurious  concerning  the  issue,  though  con¬ 
fident  it  would  disappoint  the  expectations  of  the  hermit. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  lovers  met,  and  their  interview 
was  protracted  beyond  that  at  which  they  usually  parted,  by 
the  delay  of  the  priest  to  ring  his  usual  curfew.  No  change 
took  place  upon  the  nymph’s  outAvard  form  ;  but  as  soon  as 
the  lengthening  shadows  made  her  aware  that  the  usual  hour 
of  the  vespers’  chime  was  passed,  she  tore  herself  from  her 
lover’s  arms  with  a  shriek  of  despair,  bid  him  adieu  for  ever, 
and,  plunging  into  the  fountain,  disappeared  from  his  ejms. 
The  bubbles  occasioned  by  her  descent  were  crimsoned  with 
blood  as  they  arose,  leading  the  distracted  Baron  to  infer  that 
his  ill-judged  curiosity  had  occasioned  the  death  of  this  interest¬ 
ing  and  mysterious  being.  The  remorse  which  he  felt,  as  well 
as  the  recollection  of  her  charms,  proved  the  penance  of  his 
future  life,  which  he  lost  in  the  battle  of  Flodden  not  many 
months  after.  But,  in  memory  of  his  Naiad,  he  had  previously 
ornamented  the  fountain  in  which  she  appeared  to  reside,  and 
secured  its  waters  from  profanation  or  pollution  by  the  small 
vaulted  building  of  which  the  fragments  still  remained  scattered 
around  it.  From  this  period  the  house  of  Ravenswood  was 
supposed  to  have  dated  its  decay. 

Such  was  the  generally-received  legend,  which  some,  who 
would  seem  wiser  than  the  vulgar,  explained  as  obscurely 
intimating  the  fate  of  a  beautiful  maid  of  plebeian  rank,  the 
mistress  of  this  Raymond,  whom  he  slew  in  a  fit  of  jealousy, 
and  whose  blood  was  mingled  with  the  waters  of  the  locked 
fountain,  as  it  was  commonly  called.  Others  imagined  that 
the  tale  had  a  more  remote  origin  in  the  ancient  heathen 
mythology.  All,  however,  agreed  that  the  spot  was  fatal  to  the 
Ravenswood  family ;  and  that  to  drink  of  the  waters  of  the 
well,  or  even  approach  its  brink,  was  as  ominous  to  a  descendant 
of  that  house  as  for  a  Grahame  to  wear  green,  a  Bruce  to  kill 
a  spider,  or  a  St.  Clair  to  cross  the  Ord  on  a  Monday. 

It  was  on  this  ominous  spot  that  Lucy  Ashton  first  drew 
breath  after  her  long  and  almost  deadly  swoon.  Beautiful  and 
pale  as  the  fabulous  Naiad  in  the  last  agony  of  separation  from 
her  lover,  she  was  seated  so  as  to  rest  with  her  back  against  a 


44 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


part  of  the  ruined  wall,  while  her  mantle,  dripping  with  the 
water  which  her  protector  had  used  profusely  to  recall  her 
senses,  clung  to  her  slender  and  beautifully  proportioned  form. 

The  first  moment  of  recollection  brought  to  her  mind  the 
danger  which  had  overpowered  her  senses ;  the  next  called  to 
remembrance  that  of  her  father.  She  looked  around ;  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  ‘  My  father,  my  father  !  ’  was  all  that  she 
could  ejaculate. 

‘Sir  William  is  safe,’  answered  the  voice  of  a  stranger  — 
‘perfectly  safe,  and  will  be  with  you  instantly.’ 

‘  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  ’  exclaimed  Lucy.  ‘  The  bull  was 
close  by  us.  Do  not  stop  me  :  I  must  go  to  seek  my  father !  ’ 

And  she  arose  with  that  purpose ;  but  her  strength  was  so 
much  exhausted  that,  far  from  possessing  the  power  to  execute 
her  purpose,  she  must  have  fallen  against  the  stone  on  which 
she  had  leant,  probably  not  without  sustaining  serious  injury. 

The  stranger  was  so  near  to  her  that,  without  actually 
suffering  her  to  fall,  he  could  not  avoid  catching  her  in  his 
arms,  which,  however,  he  did  with  a  momentary  reluctance,  very 
unusual  when  youth  interposes  to  prevent  beauty  from  danger. 
It  seemed  as  if  her  weight,  slight  as  it  was,  proved  too  heavy 
for  her  young  and  athletic  assistant,  for,  without  feeling  the 
temptation  of  detaining  her  in  his  arms  even  for  a  single  instant, 
he  again  placed  her  on  the  stone  from  which  she  had  risen,  and 
retreating  a  few  steps,  repeated  hastily,  ‘  Sir  William  Ashton  is 
perfectly  safe,  and  will  be  here  instantly.  Do  not  make  your¬ 
self  anxious  on  his  account :  Fate  has  singularly  preserved  him. 
You,  madam,  are  exhausted,  and  must  not  think  of  rising  until 
you  have  some  assistance  more  suitable  than  mine.’ 

Lucy,  whose  senses  were  by  this  time  more  effectually  col¬ 
lected,  was  naturally  led  to  look  at  the  stranger  with  attention. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  which  should  have  rendered 
him  unwilling  to  offer  his  arm  to  a  young  lady  who  required 
support,  or  which  could  have  induced  her  to  refuse  his  assist¬ 
ance  ;  and  she  could  not  help  thinking,  even  in  that  moment, 
that  he  seemed  cold  and  reluctant  to  offer  it.  A  shooting-dress 
of  dark  cloth  intimated  the  rank  of  the  wearer,  though  concealed 
in  part  by  a  large  and  loose  cloak  of  a  dark  brown  colour.  A 
montero  cap  and  a  black  feather  drooped  over  the  wearer’s 
brow,  and  partly  concealed  his  features,  which,  so  far  as  seen, 
were  dark,  regular,  and  full  of  majestic,  though  somewhat  sullen, 
expression.  Some  secret  sorrow,  or  the  brooding  spirit  of  some 
moody  passion,  had  quenched  the  light  and  ingenuous  vivacity 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


45 


of  youth  in  a  countenance  singularly  fitted  to  display  both,  and 
it  was  not  easy  to  gaze  on  the  stranger  without  a  secret  im¬ 
pression  either  of  pity  or  awe,  or  at  least  of  doubt  and  curiosity 
allied  to  both. 

The  impression  which  we  have  necessarily  been  long  in  de¬ 
scribing,  Lucy  lelt  in  the  glance  of  a  moment,  and  had  no 
sooner  encountered  the  keen  black  eyes  of  the  stranger  than 
her  own  were  bent  on  the  ground  with  a  mixture  of  bashful 
embarrassment  and  fear.  Yet  there  was  a  necessity  to  speak, 
or  at  least  she  thought  so,  and  in  a  fluttered  accent  she  began 
to  mention  her  wonderful  escape,  in  which  she  was  sure  that 
the  stranger  must,  under  Heaven,  have  been  her  father’s  pro¬ 
tector  and  her  own. 

He  seemed  to  shrink  from  her  expressions  of  gratitude,  while 
he  replied  abruptly,  ‘I  leave  you,  madam,’  the  deep  melody  of 
his  voice  rendered  powerful,  but  not  harsh,  by  something  like  a 
severity  of  tone  —  ‘  I  leave  you  to  the  protection  of  those  to 
whom  it  is  possible  you  may  have  this  day  been  a  guardian 
angel.’ 

Lucy  was  surprised  at  the  ambiguity  of  his  language,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  artless  and  unaffected  gratitude,  began  to 
deprecate  the  idea  of  having  intended  to  give  her  deliverer  any 
offence,  as  if  such  a  thing  had  been  possible.  4 1  have  been  un¬ 
fortunate,’  she  said,  ‘in  endeavouring  to  express  my  thanks  —  I 
am  sure  it  must  be  so,  though  I  cannot  recollect  what  I  said ; 
but  would  you  but  stay  till  my  father  —  till  the  Lord  Keeper 
comes ;  would  you  only  permit  him  to  pay  you  his  thanks,  and 
to  inquire  your  name  ?  ’ 

‘My  name  is  unnecessary,’  answered  the  stranger;  ‘your 
father  —  I  would  rather  say  Sir  William  Ashton  —  will  learn  it 
soon  enough,  for  all  the  pleasure  it  is  likely  to  afford  him.’ 

‘  You  mistake  him,’  said  Lucy,  earnestly ;  ‘  he  will  be  grate¬ 
ful  for  my  sake  and  for  his  own.  You  do  not  know  my  father, 
or  you  are  deceiving  me  with  a  story  of  his  safety,  when  he  has 
already  fallen  a  victim  to  the  fury  of  that  animal.’ 

When  she  had  caught  this  idea,  she  started  from  the  ground 
and  endeavoured  to  press  towards  the  avenue  in  which  the 
accident  had  taken  place,  while  the  stranger,  though  he  seemed 
to  hesitate  between  the  desire  to  assist  and  the  wish  to  leave 
her,  was  obliged,  in  common  humanity,  to  oppose  her  both  by 
entreaty  and  action. 

‘  On  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  madam,  I  tell  you  the  truth  ; 
your  father  is  in  perfect  safety ;  you  will  expose  yourself  to 


46 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


injury  if  you  venture  back  where  the  herd  of  wild  cattle  grazed. 
If  you  will  go  ’  —  for,  having  once  adopted  the  idea  that  her 
father  was  still  in  danger,  she  pressed  forward  in  spite  of  him 
—  ‘  if  you  will  go,  accept  my  arm,  though  I  am  not  perhaps 
the  person  who  can  with  most  propriety  offer  you  support.’ 

But,  without  heeding  this  intimation,  Lucy  took  him  at  his 
word.  ‘ 0,  if  you  be  a  man,’  she  said  —  ‘  if  you  be  a  gentleman, 
assist  me  to  find  my  father !  You  shall  not  leave  me  —  you 
must  go  with  me ;  he  is  dying  perhaps  while  we  are  talking 
here ! 5 

Then,  without  listening  to  excuse  or  apology,  and  holding 
fast  by  the  stranger’s  arm,  though  unconscious  of  anything 
save  the  support  which  it  gave,  and  without  which  she  could 
not  have  moved,  mixed  with  a  vague  feeling  of  preventing  his 
escape  from  her,  she  was  urging,  and  almost  dragging,  him 
forward  when  Sir  William  Ashton  came  up,  followed  by  the 
female  attendant  of  blind  Alice,  and  by  two  wood-cutters, 
whom  he  had  summoned  from  their  occupation  to  his  assistance. 
His  joy  at  seeing  his  daughter  safe  overcame  the  surprise  with 
which  he  would  at  another  time  have  beheld  her  hanging  as 
familiarly  on  the  arm  of  a  stranger  as  she  might  have  done 
upon  his  own. 

‘  Lucy,  my  dear  Lucy,  are  you  safe  ?  —  are  you  well  I  ’  were 
the  only  words  that  broke  from  him  as  he  embraced  her  in 
ecstasy. 

‘  I  am  well,  sir,  thank  God  !  and  still  more  that  I  see  you 
so;  but  this  gentleman,’  she  said,  quitting  his  arm  and  shrink¬ 
ing  from  him,  ‘  what  must  he  think  of  me  ?  ’  and  her  eloquent 
blood,  flushing  over  neck  and  brow,  spoke  how  much  she  was 
ashamed  of  the  freedom  with  which  she  had  craved,  and  even 
compelled,  his  assistance. 

‘This  gentleman,’  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  ‘will,  I  trust, 
not  regret  the  trouble  we  have  given  him,  when  I  assure  him 
of  the  gratitude  of  the  Lord  Keeper  for  the  greatest  service 
which  one  man  ever  rendered  to  another  —  for  the  life  of  my 
child  —  for  my  own  life,  which  he  has  saved  by  his  bravery 
and  presence  of  mind.  He  will,  I  am  sure,  permit  us  to 
request - ’ 

‘Request  nothing  of  me,  my  lord,’  said  the  stranger,  in  a 
stern  and  peremptory  tone  ;  ‘  I  am  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.’ 

There  was  a  dead  pause  of  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  less 
pleasant  feelings.  The  Master  wrapt  himself  in  his  cloak, 
made  a  haughty  inclination  towards  Lucy,  muttering  a  few 


“  ‘  Request  nothing  of  me,  my  Lord,  I  am  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


47 


words  of  courtesy,  as  indistinctly  heard  as  they  seemed  to  be 
reluctantly  uttered,  and,  turning  from  them,  was  immediately 
lost  in  the  thicket. 

‘  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  !  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  when 
he  had  recovered  his  momentary  astonishment.  ‘  Hasten  after 
him  —  stop  him  —  beg  him  to  speak  to  me  for  a  single  moment.’ 

The  two  foresters  accordingly  set  off  in  pursuit  of  the 
stranger.  They  speedily  reappeared,  and,  in  an  embarrassed 
and  awkward  manner,  said  the  gentleman  would  not  return. 

The  Lord  Keeper  took  one  of  the  fellows  aside,  and  questioned 
him  more  closely  what  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  said. 

‘  He  just  said  he  wadna  come  back,’  said  the  man,  with  the 
caution  of  a  prudent  Scotchman,  who  cared  not  to  be  the 
hearer  of  an  unpleasant  errand. 

‘  He  said  something  more,  sir,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  £  and 
I  insist  on  knowing  what  it  was.’ 

‘  Why,  then,  my  lord,’  said  the  man,  looking  down,  ‘  he 

said -  But  it  wad  be  nae  pleasure  to  your  lordship  to  hear 

it,  for  I  daresay  the  Master  meant  nae  ill.’ 

‘  That ’s  none  of  your  concern,  sir ;  I  desire  to  hear  the  very 
words.’ 

‘Weel,  then,’  replied  the  man,  ‘he  said,  “Tell  Sir  William 
Ashton  that  the  next  time  he  and  I  forgather,  he  will  not  be 
half  sae  blithe  of  our  meeting  as  of  our  parting.”  ’ 

‘  Very  well,  sir,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘  I  believe  he  alludes 
to  a  wager  we  have  on  our  hawks ;  it  is  a  matter  of  no  conse¬ 
quence.’ 

He  turned  to  his  daughter,  who  was  by  this  time  so  much 
recovered  as  to  be  able  to  walk  home.  But  the  effect,  which 
the  various  recollections  connected  with  a  scene  so  terrific 
made  upon  a  mind  which  was  susceptible  in  an  extreme  degree, 
was  more  permanent  than  the  injury  which  her  nerves  had 
sustained.  Visions  of  terror,  both  in  sleep  and  in  waking 
reveries,  recalled  to  her  the  form  of  the  furious  animal,  and 
the  dreadful  bellow  with  which  he  accompanied  his  career ; 
and  it  was  always  the  image  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
with  his  native  nobleness  of  countenance  and  form,  that  seemed 
to  interpose  betwixt  her  and  assured  death.  It  is,  perhaps,  at 
all  times  dangerous  for  a  young  person  to  suffer  recollection  to 
dwell  repeatedly,  and  with  too  much  complacency,  on  the  same 
individual ;  but  in  Lucy’s  situation  it  was  almost  unavoidable. 
She  had  never  happened  to  see  a  young  man  of  mien  and 
features  so  romantic  and  so  striking  as  young  Ravenswood ; 


48 


THE  BRIDE  OE  LAMMERMOOR 


but  had  she  seen  an  hundred  his  equals  or  his  superiors  in 
those  particulars,  no  one  else  could  have  been  linked  to  her 
heart  by  the  strong  associations  of  remembered  danger  and 
escape,  of  gratitude,  wonder,  and  curiosity.  I  say  curiosity, 
for  it  is  likely  that  the  singularly  restrained  and  unaccommodat¬ 
ing  manners  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  so  much  at  variance 
with  the  natural  expression  of  his  features  and  grace  of  his 
deportment,  as  they  excited  wonder  by  the  contrast,  had  their 
effect  in  riveting  her  attention  to  the  recollection.  She  knew 
little  of  Ravenswood,  or  the  disputes  which  had  existed  betwixt 
her  father  and  his,  and  perhaps  could  in  her  gentleness  of 
mind  hardly  have  comprehended  the  angry  and  bitter  passions 
which  they  had  engendered.  But  she  knew  that  he  was  come 
of  noble  stem  ;  was  poor,  though  descended  from  the  noble  and 
the  wealthy ;  and  she  felt  that  she  could  sympathise  with  the 
feelings  of  a  proud  mind,  which  urged  him  to  recoil  from  the 
proffered  gratitude  of  the  new  proprietors  of  his  father’s 
house  and  domains.  Would  he  have  equally  shunned  their 
acknowledgments  and  avoided  their  intimacy,  had  her  father’s 
request  been  urged  more  mildly,  less  abruptly,  and  softened 
with  the  grace  which  women  so  well  know  how  to  throw  into 
their  manner,  when  they  mean  to  mediate  betwixt  the  headlong 
passions  of  the  ruder  sex  ?  This  was  a  perilous  question  to 
ask  her  own  mind  —  perilous  both  in  the  idea  and  in  its  conse¬ 
quences. 

Lucy  Ashton,  in  short,  was  involved  in  those  mazes  of  the 
imagination  which  are  most  dangerous  to  the  young  and  the 
sensitive.  Time,  it  is  true,  absence,  change  of  scene  and  new 
faces,  might  probably  have  destroyed  the  illusion  in  her  instance, 
as  it  has  done  in  many  others ;  but  her  residence  remained 
solitary,  and  her  mind  without  those  means  of  dissipating 
her  pleasing  visions.  This  solitude  was  chiefly  owing  to  the 
absence  of  Lady  Ashton,  who  was  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh, 
watching  the  progress  of  some  state-intrigue  ;  the  Lord  Keeper 
only  received  society  out  of  policy  or  ostentation,  and  was  by 
nature  rather  reserved  and  unsociable  ;  and  thus  no  cavalier 
appeared  to  rival  or  to  obscure  the  ideal  picture  of  chivalrous 
excellence  which  Lucy  had  pictured  to  herself  in  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood. 

While  Lucy  indulged  in  these  dreams,  she  made  frequent 
visits  to  old  blind  Alice,  hoping  it  would  be  easy  to  lead  her 
to  talk  on  the  subject  which  at  present  she  had  so  imprudently 
admitted  to  occupy  so  large  a  portion  of  her  thoughts.  But 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMGOR 


49 


Alice  did  not  in  this  particular  gratify  her  wishes  and  expecta¬ 
tions.  She  spoke  readily,  and  with  pathetic  feeling,  concerning 
the  family  in  general,  but  seemed  to  observe  an  especial  and 
cautious  silence  on  the  subject  of  the  present  representative. 
The  little  she  said  of  him  was  not  altogether  so  favourable  as 
Lucy  had  anticipated.  She  hinted  that  he  was  of  a  stern  and 
unforgiving  character,  more  ready  to  resent  than  to  pardon  in¬ 
juries;  and  Lucy  combined,  with  great  alarm,  the  hints  which 
she  now  dropped  of  these  dangerous  qualities  with  Alice’s 
advice  to  her  father,  so  emphatically  given,  ‘to  beware  of 
Ravenswood.’ 

But  that  very  Ravenswood,  of  whom  such  unjust  suspicions 
had  been  entertained,  had,  almost  immediately  after  they  had 
been  uttered,  confuted  them  by  saving  at  once  her  father’s 
life  and  her  own.  Had  he  nourished  such  black  revenge  as 
Alice’s  dark  hints  seemed  to  indicate,  no  deed  of  active  guilt 
was  necessary  to  the  full  gratification  of  that  evil  passion.  He 
needed  but  to  have  withheld  for  an  instant  his  indispensable 
and  effective  assistance,  and  the  object  of  his  resentment  must 
have  perished,  without  any  direct  aggression  on  his  part,  by  a 
death  equally  fearful  and  certain.  She  conceived,  therefore, 
that  some  secret  prejudice,  or  the  suspicions  incident  to  age 
and  misfortune,  had  led  Alice  to  form  conclusions  injurious  to 
the  character,  and  irreconcilable  both  with  the  generous  con¬ 
duct  and  noble  features,  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  And  in 
this  belief  Lucy  reposed  her  hope,  and  went  on  weaving  her 
enchanted  web  of  fairy  tissue,  as  beautiful  and  transient  as  the 
film  of  the  gossamer  when  it  is  pearled  with  the  morning  dew 
and  glimmering  to  the  sun. 

Her  father,  in  the  meanwhile,  as  well  as  the  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood,  were  making  reflections,  as  frequent  though  more  solid 
than  those  of  Lucy,  upon  the  singular  event  which  had  taken 
place.  The  Lord  Keeper’s  first  task,  when  he  returned  home, 
was  to  ascertain  by  medical  advice  that  his  daughter  had  sus¬ 
tained  no  injury  from  the  dangerous  and  alarming  situation  in 
which  she  had  been  placed.  Satisfied  on  this  topic,  he  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  revise  the  memoranda  which  he  had  taken  down  from 
the  mouth  of  the  person  employed  to  interrupt  the  funeral  ser¬ 
vice  of  the  late  Lord  Ravenswood.  Bred  to  casuistry,  and  well 
accustomed  to  practise  the  ambidexter  ingenuity  of  the  bar,  it 
cost  him  little  trouble  to  soften  the  features  of  the  tumult  which 
he  had  been  at  first  so  anxious  to  exaggerate.  He  preached 
to  his  colleagues  of  the  privy  council  the  necessity  of  using 

VOL.  VIII - 4 


50 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


conciliatory  measures  with  young  men,  whose  blood  and  temper 
were  hot,  and  their  experience  of  life  limited.  He  did  not 
hesitate  to  attribute  some  censure  to  the  conduct  of  the  officer, 
as  having  been  unnecessarily  irritating. 

These  were  the  contents  of  his  public  despatches.  The  letters 
which  he  wrote  to  those  private  friends  into  whose  management 
the  matter  was  likely  to  fall  were  of  a  yet  more  favourable 
tenor.  He  represented  that  lenity  in  this  case  would  be  equally 
politic  and  popular,  whereas,  considering  the  high  respect  with 
which  the  rites  of  interment  are  regarded  in  Scotland,  any 
severity  exercised  against  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  for  pro¬ 
tecting  those  of  his  father  from  interruption,  would  be  on  all 
sides  most  unfavourably  construed.  And,  finally,  assuming  the 
language  of  a  generous  and  high-spirited  man,  he  made  it  his 
particular  request  that  this  affair  should  be  passed  over  without 
severe  notice.  He  alluded  with  delicacy  to  the  predicament  in 
which  he  himself  stood  with  young  Ravenswood,  as  having 
succeeded  in  the  long  train  of  litigation  by  which  the  fortunes 
of  that  noble  house  had  been  so  much  reduced,  and  confessed 
it  would  be  most  peculiarly  acceptable  to  his  feelings,  could 
he  find  means  in  some  sort  to  counterbalance  the  disadvantages 
which  he  had  occasioned  the  family,  though  only  in  the  prose¬ 
cution  of  his  just  and  lawful  rights.  He  therefore  made  it  his 
particular  and  personal  request  that  the  matter  should  have 
no  farther  consequences,  and  insinuated  a  desire  that  he  himself 
should  have  the  merit  of  having  put  a  stop  to  it  by  his  favour¬ 
able  report  and  intercession.  It  was  particularly  remarkable 
that,  contrary  to  his  uniform  practice,  he  made  no  special  com¬ 
munication  to  Lady  Ashton  upon  the  subject  of  the  tumult; 
and  although  he  mentioned  the  alarm  which  Lucy  had  received 
from  one  of  the  wild  cattle,  yet  he  gave  no  detailed  account  of 
an  incident  so  interesting  and  terrible 

There  was  much  surprise  among  Sir  William  Ashton’s  po¬ 
litical  friends  and  colleagues  on  receiving  letters  of  a  tenor  so 
unexpected.  On  comparing  notes  together,  one  smiled,  one 
put  up  his  eyebrows,  a  third  nodded  acquiescence  in  the  general 
wonder,  and  a  fourth  asked  if  they  were  sure  these  were  all 
the  letters  the  Lord  Keeper  had  written  on  the  subject.  £It 
runs  strangely  in  my  mind,  my  lords,  that  none  of  these  advices 
contain  the  root  of  the  matter.’ 

But  no  secret  letters  of  a  contrary  nature  had  been  received, 
although  the  question  seemed  to  imply  the  possibility  of  their 
existence. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


51 


‘Well,’  said  an  old  grey-headed  statesman,  who  had  con¬ 
trived,  by  shifting  and  trimming,  to  maintain  his  post  at  the 
steerage  through  all  the  changes  of  course  which  the  vessel  had 
held  for  thirty  years,  ‘  I  thought  Sir  William  would  hae  veri¬ 
fied  the  auld  Scottish  saying,  “  As  soon  comes  the  lamb’s  skin 
to  market  as  the  auld  tup’s.”  ’ 

‘We  must  please  him  after  his  own  fashion,’  said  another, 
‘  though  it  be  an  unlooked-for  one.’ 

‘  A  wilful  man  maun  hae  his  way,’  answered  the  old  counsellor. 

‘  The  Keeper  will  rue  this  before  year  and  day  are  out,’  said  a 
third  ;  ‘  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  is  the  lad  to  wind  him  a  pirn.’ 1 

‘  Why,  what  would  you  do,  my  lords,  with  the  poor  young 
fellow  h  ’  said  a  noble  Marquis  present.  ‘  The  Lord  Keeper  has 
got  all  his  estates  ;  he  has  not  a  cross  to  bless  himself  with.’ 

On  which  the  ancient  Lord  Turntippet  replied, 

‘  If  he  hasna  gear  to  fine, 

He  has  shins  to  pine. 

And  that  was  our  way  before  the  Revolution  :  Luitur  cum  per¬ 
sona,  qui  luere  non  potest  cum  crumena .2  Hegh,  my  lords,  that ’s 
gude  law  Latin.’ 

‘I  can  see  no  motive,’  replied  the  Marquis,  ‘that  any  noble 
lord  can  have  for  urging  this  matter  farther  ;  let  the  Lord 
Keeper  have  the  power  to  deal  in  it  as  he  pleases.’ 

‘  Agree,  agree  —  remit  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  with  any  other 
person  for  fashion’s  sake  —  Lord  Hirplehooly,  who  is  bed-ridden 
—  one  to  be  a  quorum.  Make  your  entry  in  the  minutes,  Mr. 
Clerk.  And  now,  my  lords,  there  is  that  young  scattergood 
the  Laird  of  Bucklaw’s  fine  to  be  disponed  upon.  I  suppose  it 
goes  to  my  Lord  Treasurer  ?  ’ 

‘Shame  be  in  my  meal-poke,  then,’  exclaimed  Lord  Turn¬ 
tippet,  ‘  and  your  hand  aye  in  the  nook  of  it !  I  had  set  that 
down  for  a  bye-bit  between  meals  for  mysell.  ’ 

‘To  use  one  of  your  favourite  saws,  my  lord,’ replied  the 
Marquis,  ‘  you  are  like  the  miller’s  dog,  that  licks  his  lips 
before  the  bag  is  untied  :  the  man  is  not  fined  yet.’ 

‘  But  that  costs  but  twa  skarts  of  a  pen,’  said  Lord  Turn¬ 
tippet  ;  ‘  and  surely  there  is  nae  noble  lord  that  will  presume 
to  say  that  I,  wha  hae  complied  wi’  a’  compliances,  taen  all 
manner  of  tests,  abjured  all  that  was  to  be  abjured,  and  sworn 

1  Wind  him  a  pirn,  proverbial  for  preparing  a  troublesome  business  for 
some  person. 

2  i.  e..  Let  him  pay  with  his  person  who  cannot  pay  with  his  purse , 


U.  of  III.  Lib.,  Gales 


52 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


a’  that  was  to  be  sworn,  for  these  thirty  years  bye-past,  sticking 
fast  by  my  duty  to  the  state  through  good  report  and  bad 
report,  shouldna  hae  something  now  and  then  to  synd  my 
mouth  wi’  after  sic  drouthy  wark  ?  Eh  1  ’ 

‘  It  would  be  very  unreasonable  indeed,  my  lord,’  replied 
the  Marquis,  ‘  had  we  either  thought  that  your  lordship’s 
drought  was  quenchable,  or  observed  anything  stick  in  your 
throat  that  required  washing  down.’ 

And  so  we  close  the  scene  on  the  privy  council  of  that 
period. 


CHAPTER  VI 


For  this  are  all  these  warriors  come, 

To  hear  an  idle  tale  ; 

And  o’er  our  death-aceustom’d  arms 
Shall  silly  tears  prevail  ? 

Henry  Mackenzie. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  Lord  Keeper  and  his 
daughter  were  saved  from  such  imminent  peril,  two 
strangers  were  seated  in  the  most  private  apartment  of 
a  small  obscure  inn,  or  rather  alehouse,  called  the  Tod’s  Den, 
about  three  or  four  miles  from  the  Castle  of  Ravenswood  and  as 
far  from  the  ruinous  tower  of  Wolfs  Crag,  betwixt  which  two 
places  it  was  situated. 

One  of  these  strangers  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  tall, 
and  thin  in  the  flanks,  with  an  aquiline  nose,  dark  penetrating 
eyes,  and  a  shrewd  but  sinister  cast  of  countenance.  The 
other  was  about  fifteen  years  younger,  short,  stout,  ruddy - 
faced,  and  red-haired,  with  an  open,  resolute,  and  cheerful  eye, 
to  which  careless  and  fearless  freedom  and  inward  daring  gave 
fire  and  expression,  notwithstanding  its  light  grey  colour.  A 
stoup  of  wine  (for  in  those  days  it  was  served  out  from  the 
cask  in  pewter  flagons)  was  placed  on  the  table,  and  each  had 
his  quaigh  or  bicker 1  before  him.  But  there  was  little  appear¬ 
ance  of  conviviality.  With  folded  arms,  and  looks  of  anxious 
expectation,  they  eyed  each  other  in  silence,  each  wrapt  in  his 
own  thoughts,  and  holding  no  communication  with  his  neigh¬ 
bour.  At  length  the  younger  broke  silence  by  exclaiming, 
‘  What  the  foul  fiend  can  detain  the  Master  so  long  1  He  must 
have  miscarried  in  his  enterprise.  Why  did  you  dissuade  me 
from  going  with  him  ?  ’ . 

‘One  man  is  enough  to  right  his  own  wrong,’  said  the  taller 

1  Drinking  cups  of  different  sizes,  made  out  of  staves  hooped  together. 
The  quaigh  was  used  chiefly  for  drinking  wine  or  hrandy  ;  it  might  hold 
about  a  gill,  and  was  often  composed  of  rare  wood,  and  curiously  orna¬ 
mented  with  silver. 


54 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  older  personage ;  ‘  we  venture  our  lives  for  him  in  coming 
thus  far  on  such  an  errand.’ 

‘You  are  but  a  craven  after  all,  Craigengelt,’  answered  the 
younger,  ‘  and  that ’s  what  many  folk  have  thought  you  before  now .  ’ 

‘  But  what  none  has  dared  to  tell  me,’  said  Craigengelt, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword ;  ‘and,  but  that  I  hold 

a  hasty  man  no  better  than  a  fool,  I  would - ’  he  paused  for 

his  companion’s  answer. 

Would  you  1  ’  said  the  other,  coolly;  ‘and  why  do  you  not 
then  ?  ’ 

Craigengelt  drew  his  cutlass  an  inch  or  two,  and  then  returned 
it  with  violence  into  the  scabbard  —  ‘  Because  there  is  a  deeper 
stake  to  be  played  for  than  the  lives  of  twenty  harebrained 
gowks  like  you.’ 

‘You  are  right  there,’  said  his  companion,  ‘for  if  it  were 
not  that  these  forfeitures,  and  that  last  fine  that  the  old 
driveller  Turn  tippet  is  gaping  for,  and  which,  I  daresay,  is  laid 
on  by  this  time,  have  fairly  driven  me  out  of  house  and  home, 
I  were  a  coxcomb  and  a  cuckoo  to  boot  to  trust  your  fair 
promises  of  getting  me  a  commission  in  the  Irish  brigade. 
What  have  I  to  do  with  the  Irish  brigade  ?  I  am  a  plain  Scotch¬ 
man,  as  my  father  was  before  me ;  and  my  grand-aunt,  Lady 
Girnington,  cannot  live  for  ever.’ 

‘Ay,  Bucklaw,’  observed  Craigengelt,  ‘but  she  may  live  for 
many  a  long  day ;  and  for  your  father,  he  had  land  and  living, 
kept  himself  close  from  wadsetters  and  money-lenders,  paid 
each  man  his  due,  and  lived  on  his  own.’ 

‘  And  whose  fault  is  it  that  I  have  not  done  so  too  ?  ’  said 
Bucklaw  —  ‘  whose  but  the  devil’s  and  yours,  and  such-like  as 
you,  that  have  led  me  to  the  far  end  of  a  fair  estate  ?  And  now 
I  shall  be  obliged,  I  suppose,  to  shelter  and  shift  about  like 
yourself :  live  one  week  upon  a  line  of  secret  intelligence  from 
Saint  Germains  ;  another  upon  a  report  of  a  rising  in  the  High¬ 
lands  ;  get  my  breakfast  and  morning  draught  of  sack  from  old 
Jacobite  ladies,  and  give  them  locks  of  my  old  wig  for  the 
Chevalier’s  hair ;  second  my  friend  in  his  quarrel  till  he  comes 
to  the  field,  and  then  flinch  from  him  lest  so  important  a 
political  agent  should  perish  from  the  way.  All  this  I  must  do 
for  bread,  besides  calling  myself  a  captain  !  ’ 

‘  You  think  you  are  making  a  fine  speech  now,’  said  Craigengelt, 

‘  and  showing  much  wit  at  my  expense.  Is  starving  or  hanging 
better  than  the  life  I  am  obliged  to  lead,  because  the  present 
fortunes  of  the  king  cannot  sufficiently  support  his  envoys  ?  ’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


55 


‘  Starving  is  honester,  Craigengelt,  and  hanging  is  like  to  be 
the  end  on  ’t.  But  what  you  mean  to  make  of  this  poor  fellow 
Ravenswood,  I  know  not.  He  has  no  money  left,  any  more 
than  I ;  his  lands  are  all  pawned  and  pledged,  and  the  interest 
eats  up  the  rents,  and  is  not  satisfied,  and  what  do  you  hope 
to  make  by  meddling  in  his  affairs  1  ’ 

‘  Content  yourself,  Bucklaw ;  I  know  my  business,’  replied 
Craigengelt.  ‘  Besides  that  his  name,  and  his  father’s  services 
in  1689,  will  make  such  an  acquisition  sound  well  both  at 
, Versailles  and  Saint  Germains,  you  will  also  please  be  informed 
that  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  is  a  very  different  kind  of  a 
young  fellow  from  you.  He  has  parts  and  address,  as  well  as 
courage  and  talents,  and  will  present  himself  abroad  like  a 
young  man  of  head  as  well  as  heart,  who  knows  something 
more  than  the  speed  of  a  horse  or  the  flight  of  a  hawk.  I  have 
lost  credit  of  late,  by  bringing  over  no  one  that  had  sense  to 
know  more  than  how  to  unharbour  a  stag,  or  take  and  reclaim 
an  eyas.  The  Master  has  education,  sense,  and  penetration.’ 

‘  And  yet  is  not  wise  enough  to  escape  the  tricks  of  a  kid¬ 
napper,  Craigengelt  ?  ’  replied  the  younger  man.  ‘  But  don’t 
be  angry  ;  you  know  you  will  not  fight,  and  so  it  is  as  well  to 
leave  your  hilt  in  peace  and  quiet,  and  tell  me  in  sober  guise 
how  you  drew  the  Master  into  your  confidence  ?  ’ 

‘By  flattering  his  love  of  vengeance,  Bucklaw,’  answered 
Craigengelt.  ‘  He  has  always  distrusted  me ;  but  I  watched 
my  time,  and  struck  while  his  temper  was  red-hot  with  the 
sense  of  insult  and  of  wrong.  He  goes  now  to  expostulate,  as  he 
says,  and  perhaps  thinks,  with  Sir  William  Ashton.  I  say,  that 
if  they  meet,  and  the  lawyer  puts  him  to  his  defence,  the  Master 
will  kill  him  ;  for  he  had  that  sparkle  in  his  eye  which  never 
deceives  you  when  you  would  read  a  man’s  purpose.  At  any 
rate,  he  will  give  him  such  a  bullying  as  will  be  construed  into 
an  assault  on  a  privy  councillor ;  so  there  will  be  a  total  breach 
betwixt  him  and  government.  Scotland  will  be  too  hot  for 
him France  will  gain  him  ;  and  we  will  all  set  sail  together 
in  the  French  brig  “  L’Espoir,”  which  is  hovering  for  us  off' 
Eyemouth.’ 

‘Content  am  I,’  said  Bucklaw;  ‘Scotland  has  little  left  that 
I  care  about ;  and  if  carrying  the  Master  with  us  will  get  us  a 
better  reception  in  France,  why,  so  be  it,  a  God’s  name.  I 
doubt  our  own  merits  will  procure  us  slender  preferment ;  and 
I  trust  he  will  send  a  ball  through  the  Keeper's  head  before  he 
joins  us.  One  or  two  of  these  scoundrel  statesman  should  be 


56  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

shot  once  a-year,  just  to  keep  the  others  on  their  good  be¬ 
haviour.' 

‘That  is  very  true,’  replied  Craigengelt;  ‘and  it  reminds  me 
that  I  must  go  and  see  that  our  horses  have  been  fed,  and  are 
in  readiness ;  for,  should  such  deed  be  done,  it  will  be  no  time 
for  grass  to  grow  beneath  their  heels.’  He  proceeded  as  far  as 
the  door,  then  turned  back  with  a  look  of  earnestness,  and  said 
to  Bucldaw,  ‘  Whatever  should  come  of  this  business,  I  am  sure 
you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  I  said  nothing  to 
the  Master  which  could  imply  my  accession  to  any  act  of 
violence  which  he  may  .take  it  into  his  head  to  commit.' 

‘No,  no,  not  a  single  word  like  accession,'  replied  Bucklaw ; 
‘  you  know  too  well  the  risk  belonging  to  these  two  terrible 
words,  “art  and  part.”'  Then,  as  if  to  himself,  he  recited 
the  following  lines  :  — 

‘  The  dial  spoke  not,  but  it  made  shrewd  signs, 

And  pointed  full  upon  the  stroke  of  murder.’ 


‘  What  is  that  you  are  talking  to  yourself  ?  ’  said  Craigengelt, 
turning  back  with  some  anxiety. 

‘  Nothing,  only  two  lines  I  have  heard  upon  the  stage,’  replied 
his  companion. 

‘  Bucklaw,'  said  Craigengelt,  ‘  I  sometimes  think  you  should 
have  been  a  stage-player  yourself;  all  is  fancy  and  frolic  with 
you.' 

‘I  have  often  thought  so  myself,’  said  Bucklaw.  ‘I  believe 
it  would  be  safer  than  acting  with  you  in  the  Fatal  Conspiracy. 
But  away,  play  your  own  part,  and  look  after  the  horses  like  a 
groom  as  you  are.  A  play-actor  —  a  stage-player  !  ’  he  repeated 
to  himself;  ‘that  would  have  deserved  a  stab,  but  that 
Craigengelt 's  a  coward.  And  yet  I  should  like  the  profession 
well  enough.  Stay,  let  me  see ;  ay,  I  would  come  out  in 
A  lexander  — 

Thus  from  the  grave  I  rise  to  save  my  love, 

Draw  all  your  swords,  and  quick  as  lightning  move. 

When  I  rush  on,  sure  none  will  dare  to  stay  ; 

’T  is  love  commands,  and  glory  leads  the  way.  ’ 

As  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  his  hand  upon  his  sword, 
Bucklaw  repeated  the  ranting  couplets  of  poor  Lee,  Craigengelt 
re-entered  with  a  face  of  alarm. 

‘  W e  are  undone,  Bucklaw  !  The  Master’s  led  horse  has  cast 
himself  over  his  halter  in  the  stable,  and  is  dead  lame.  His 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  57 

hackney  will  be  set  up  with  the  day’s  work,  and  now  he  has  no 
fresh  horse  ;  he  will  never  get  off.’ 

‘  Egad,  there  will  be  no  moving  with  the  speed  of  lightning 
this  bout,’  said  Bucklaw,  drily.  ‘But  stay,  you  can  give  him 
yours.’ 

‘  What !  and  be  taken  myself  ?  I  thank  you  for  the  proposal,’ 
said  Craigengelt. 

‘Why,’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘if  the  Lord  Keeper  should  have 
met  with  a  mischance,  which  for  my  part  I  cannot  suppose,  for 
the  Master  is  not  the  lad  to  shoot  an  old  and  unarmed  man  — 
but  if  there  should  have  been  a  fray  at  the  Castle,  you  are 
neither  art  nor  part  in  it,  you  know,  so  have  nothing  to 
fear.’ 

‘True,  true,’  answered  the  other,  with  embarrassment;  ‘but 
consider  my  commission  from  Saint  Germains.’ 

‘  Which  many  men  think  is  a  commission  of  your  own  making, 
noble  Captain.  W ell,  if  you  will  not  give  him  your  horse,  why, 
d — n  it,  he  must  have  mine.’ 

‘  Yours  1  ’  said  Craigengelt. 

‘Ay,  mine,’  repeated  Bucklaw;  ‘it  shall  never  be  said  that 
I  agreed  to  back  a  gentleman  in  a  little  affair  of  honour,  and 
neither  helped  him  on  with  it  nor  off  from  it.’ 

‘  You  will  give  him  your  horse  1  and  have  you  considered 
the  loss  1  ’ 

‘  Loss !  why,  Grey  Gilbert  cost  me  twenty  Jacobuses,  that ’s 
true ;  but  then  his  hackney  is  worth  something,  and  his  Black 
Moor  is  worth  twice  as  much  were  he  sound,  and  I  know  how 
to  handle  him.  Take  a  fat  sucking  mastiff  whelp,  flay  and 
bowel  him,  stuff  the  body  full  of  black  and  grey  snails,  roast 
a  reasonable  time,  and  baste  with  oil  of  spikenard,  saffron, 
cinnamon,  and  honey,  anoint  with  the  dripping,  working  it 
in - ’ 

‘Yes,  Bucklaw;  but  in  the  meanwhile,  before  the  sprain  is 
cured,  nay,  before  the  whelp  is  roasted,  you  will  be  caught  and 
hung.  Depend  on  it,  the  chase  will  be  hard  after  Ravenswood. 
I  wish  we  had  made  our  place  of  rendezvous  nearer  to  the 
coast.’ 

‘  On  my  faith,  then,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘  I  had  best  go  off  just 
now,  and  leave  my  horse  for  him.  Stay  —  stay,  he  comes  :  I  hear 
a  horse’s  feet.’ 

‘  Are  you  sure  there  is  only  one  1  ’  said  Craigengelt.  ‘  I  fear 
there  is  a  chase  ;  I  think  I  hear  three  or  four  galloping  together. 
I  am  sure  I  hear  more  horses  than  one.’ 


58 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘  Pooh,  pooh,  it  is  the  wench  of  the  house  clattering  to  the 
well  in  her  pattens.  By  my  faith,  Captain,  you  should  give  up 
both  your  captainship  and  your  secret  service,  for  you  are  as 
easily  scared  as  a  wild  goose.  But  here  comes  the  Master  alone, 
and  looking  as  gloomy  as  a  night  in  November.’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  entered  the  room  accordingly,  his 
cloak  muffled  around  him,  his  arms  folded,  his  looks  stern,  and 
at  the  same  time  dejected.  He  flung  his  cloak  from  him  as  he 
entered,  threw  himself  upon  a  chair,  and  appeared  sunk  in  a 
profound  reverie. 

‘  What  has  happened  %  What  have  you  done  ?  ’  was  hastily 
demanded  by  Craigengelt  and  Bucklaw  in  the  same  moment. 

‘  Nothing,’  was  the  short  and  sullen  answer. 

‘Nothing!  and  left  us,  determined  to  call  the  old  villain  to 
account  for  all  the  injuries  that  you,  we,  and  the  country  have 
received  at  his  hand  ?  Have  you  seen  him  %  ’ 

‘  I  have,’  replied  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

‘Seen  him  —  and  come  away  without  settling  scores  which 
have  been  so  long  due  h  ’  said  Bucklaw ;  ‘  I  would  not  have 
expected  that  at  the  hand  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.’ 

‘No  matter  what  you  expected,’  replied  Ravenswood  ;  ‘it  is 
not  to  you,  sir,  that  I  shall  be  disposed  to  render  any  reason 
for  my  conduct.’ 

‘Patience,  Bucklaw,’  said  Craigengelt,  interrupting  his 
companion,  who  seemed  about  to  make  an  angry  reply.  ‘  The 
Master  has  been  interrupted  in  his  purpose  by  some  accident ; 
but  he  must  excuse  the  anxious  curiosity  of  friends  who  are 
devoted  to  his  cause  like  you  and  me.’ 

‘  Friends,  Captain  Craigengelt !  ’  retorted  Ravenswood, 
haughtily ;  ‘  Im  a  ignorant  what  familiarity  has  passed  betwixt 
us  to  entitle  you  to  use  that  expression.  I  think  our  friendship 
amounts  to  this,  that  wre  agreed  to  leave  Scotland  together  so 
soon  as  I  should  have  visited  the  alienated  mansion  of  my 
fathers,  and  had  an  interview  with  its  present  possessor  —  I  will 
not  call  him  proprietor.’ 

‘Very  true,  Master,’  answered  Bucklaw;  ‘and  as  we  thought 
you  had  a  mind  to  do  something  to  put  your  neck  in  jeopardy, 
Craigie  and  I  very  courteously  agreed  to  tarry  for  you,  although 
ours  might  run  some  risk  in  consequence.  As  to  Craigie,  indeed, 
it  does  not  very  much  signify  :  he  had  gallows  written  on  his 
brow  in  the  hour  of  his  birth ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  discredit 
my  parentage  by  coming  to  such  an  end  in  another  man’s  cause.’ 

‘Gentlemen,’  said  the!  Master  of  Ravenswood,  ‘I  am  sorry  if 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


59 


I  have  occasioned  you  any  inconvenience,  but  I  must  claim  the 
right  of  judging  what  is  best  for  my  own  affairs,  without  render¬ 
ing  explanations  to  any  one.  I  have  altered  my  mind,  and  do 
not  design  to  leave  the  country  this  season.’ 

‘Not  to  leave  the  country,  Master!  ’exclaimed  Craigengelt. 
‘  Not  to  go  over,  after  all  the  trouble  and  expense  I  have 
incurred  —  after  all  the  risk  of  discovery,  and  the  expense  of 
demurrage !  ’ 

‘  Sir,’  replied  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood,  ‘  when  I  designed 
to  leave  this  country  in  this  haste,  I  made  use  of  your  obliging 
offer  to  procure  me  means  of  conveyance ;  but  I  do  not  recollect 
that  I  pledged  myself  to  go  off,  if  I  found  occasion  to  alter  my 
mind.  For  your  trouble  on  my  account,  I  am  sorry,  and  I  thank 
you  ;  your  expense,’  he  added,  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 

‘  admits  a  more  solid  compensation  :  freight  and  demurrage  are 
matters  with  which  I  am  unacquainted,  Captain  Craigengelt, 
but  take  my  purse  and  pay  yourself  according  to  your  own 
conscience.’  And  accordingly  he  tendered  a  purse  with  some 
gold  in  it  to  the  soi-disant  captain. 

But  here  Bucklaw  interposed  in  his  turn.  ‘Your  fingers, 
Craigie,  seem  to  itch  for  that  same  piece  of  green  network,’ 
said  he ;  ‘but  I  make  my  vow  to  God,  that  if  they  offer  to  close 
upon  it,  I  will  chop  them  off  with  my  whinger.  Since  the 
Master  has  changed  his  mind,  I  suppose  we  need  stay  here  no 
longer ;  but  in  the  first  place  I  beg  leave  to  tell  him - ’ 

‘  Tell  him  anything  you  will,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘  if  you  will 
first  allow  me  to  state  the  inconveniences  to  which  he  will  expose 
himself  by  quitting  our  society,  to  remind  him  of  the  obstacles 
to  his  remaining  here,  and  of  the  difficulties  attending  his  proper 
introduction  at  Versailles  and  Saint  Germains  without  the  coun¬ 
tenance  of  those  who  have  established  useful  connexions.’ 

‘Besides  forfeiting  the  friendship,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘of  at  least 
one  man  of  spirit  and  honour.’ 

‘Gentlemen,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘permit  me  once  more  to 
assure  you  that  you  have  been  pleased  to  attach  to  our  temporary 
connexion  more  importance  than  I  ever  meant  that  it  should 
have.  When  I  repair  to  foreign  courts,  I  shall  not  need  the 
introduction  of  an  intriguing  adventurer,  nor  is  it  necessary  for 
me  to  set  value  on  the  friendship  of  a  hot-headed  bully.’  With 
these  words,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  left  the 
apartment,  remounted  his  horse,  and  was  heard  to  ride  off. 

‘  Mortbleu  !  ’  said  Captain  Craigengelt,  ‘  my  recruit  is  lost !  ’ 

*  Ay,  Captain,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘the  salmon  is  off  with  hook  and 


60 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


all.  But  I  will  after  him,  for  I  have  had  more  of  his  insolence 
than  I  can  well  digest/ 

Craigengelt  offered  to  accompany  him  ;  hut  Bucklaw  replied, 
‘No,  no,  Captain,  keep  you  the  cheek  of  the  chimney-nook  till 
I  come  back ;  it  5s  good  sleeping  in  a  liaill  skin. 

Little  kens  the  auld  wife  that  sits  by  the  fire. 

How  cauld  the  wind  blaws  in  hurle-burle  swire.’ 


And  singing  as  he  went,  he  left  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  VII 


Now,  Billy  Bewick,  keep  good  heart, 

And  of  thy  talking  let  me  be ; 
v  Blit  if  thou  art  a  man,  as  I  am  sure  thou  art, 

Come  over  the  dike  and  fight  writh  me. 

Old  Ballad. 

THE  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  mounted  the  ambling 
hackney  which  he  before  rode,  on  finding  the  accident 
which  had  happened  to  his  led  horse,  and,  for  the 
animal’s  ease,  was  proceeding  at  a  slow  pace  from  the  Tod’s 
Den  towards  his  old  tower  of  Wolf’s  Crag,  when  he  heard  the 
galloping  of  a  horse  behind  him,  and,  looking  hack,  perceived 
that  he  was  pursued  by  young  Bucldaw,  who  had  been  delayed 
'  a  few  minutes  in  the  pursuit  by  the  irresistible  temptation  of 
giving  the  hostler  at  the  Tod’s  Den  some  recipe  for  treating  the 
lame  horse.  This  brief  delay  he  had  made  up  by  hard  gallop¬ 
ing,  and  now  overtook  the  Master  where  the  road  traversed  a 
waste  moor.  ‘  Halt,  sir,’  cried  Bucldaw ;  ‘  I  am  no  political 
agent  —  no  Captain  Craigengelt,  whose  life  is  too  important  to 
be  hazarded  in  defence  of  his  honour.  I  am  Frank  Hayston  of 
Bucldaw,  and  no  man  injures  me  by  word,  deed,  sign,  or  look, 
but  he  must  render  me  an  account  of  it.’ 

*  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,’  replied  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  in  a  tone  the  most  calm  and  indiffer¬ 
ent  ;  ‘  but  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  and  desire  to  have  none. 
Our  roads  homeward,  as  well  as  our  roads  through  life,  lie  in 
different  directions ;  there  is  no  occasion  for  us  crossing  each 
other.’ 

‘  Is  there  not  %  ’  said  Bucklaw,  impetuously.  ‘  By  Heaven  ! 
but  I  say  that  there  is,  though  :  you  call  us  intriguing  adven¬ 
turers.’ 

‘Be  correct  in  your  recollection,  Mr.  Hayston;  it  was  to 
your  companion  only  I  applied  that  epithet,  and  you  know  him 
to  be  no  better.’ 


62 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘  And  what  then  ]  He  was  my  companion  for  the  time,  and 
no  man  shall  insult  my  companion,  right  or  wrong,  while  he  is 
in  my  company.’ 

‘Then,  Mr.  Hayston,’  replied  Ravenswood,  with  the  same 
composure,  ‘  you  should  choose  your  society  better,  or  you  are 
like  to  have  much  work  in  your  capacity  of  their  champion. 
Go  home,  sir ;  sleep,  and  have  more  reason  in  your  wrath  to¬ 
morrow.’ 

‘Not  so,  Master,  you  have  mistaken  your  man;  high  airs 
and  wise  saws  shall  not  carry  it  off  thus.  Besides,  you  termed 
me  bully,  and  you  shall  retract  the  word  before  we  part.’ 

‘Faith,  scarcely,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘unless  you  show  me 
better  reason  for  thinking  myself  mistaken  than  you  are  now 
producing.’ 

‘Then,  Master,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘though  I  should  be  sorry  to 
offer  it  to  a  man  of  your  quality,  if  you  will  not  justify  your 
incivility,  or  retract  it,  or  name  a  place  of  meeting,  you  must 
here  undergo  the  hard  word  and  the  hard  blow.’ 

‘Neither  will  be  necessary,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘I  am  satis¬ 
fied  with  what  I  have  done  to  avoid  an  affair  with  you.  If  you 
are  serious,  this  place  will  serve  as  well  as  another.’ 

‘Dismount  then,  and  draw,’  said  Bucklaw,  setting  him  an 
example.  ‘I  always  thought  and  said  you  were  a  pretty  man; 
I  should  be  sorry  to  report  you  otherwise.’ 

‘  You  shall  have  no  reason,  sir,’  said  Ravenswood,  alighting, 
and  putting  himself  into  a  posture  of  defence. 

Their  swords  crossed,  and  the  combat  commenced  with  great 
spirit  on  the  part  of  Bucklaw,  who  was  well  accustomed  to 
affairs  of  the  kind,  and  distinguished  by  address  and  dexterity 
at  his  weapon.  In  the  present  case,  however,  he  did  not  use 
his  skill  to  advantage ;  for,  having  lost  temper  at  the  cool  and 
contemptuous  manner  in  which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had 
long  refused,  and  at  length  granted,  him  satisfaction,  and 
urged  by  his  impatience,  he  adopted  the  part  of  an  assailant 
with  inconsiderate  eagerness.  The  Master,  with  equal  skill, 
and  much  greater  composure,  remained  chiefly  on  the  defensive, 
and  even  declined  to  avail  himself  of  one  or  two  advantages 
afforded  him  by  the  eagerness  of  his  adversary.  At  length,  in 
a  desperate  lunge,  which  he  followed  with  an  attempt  to  close, 
Bucklaw’s  foot  slipped,  and  he  fell  on  the  short  grassy  turf  on 
which  they  were  fighting.  ‘Take  your  life,  sir,’  said  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood,  ‘and  mend  it  if  you  can.’ 

‘  It  would  be  but  a  cobbled  piece  of  work,  I  fear,’  said  Buck- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  .  LAMMERMOOR  63 

law,  rising  slowly  and  gathering  up  his  sword,  much  less  dis¬ 
concerted  with  the  issue  of  the  combat  than  could  have  been 
expected .  from  the  impetuosity  of  his  temper.  ‘  I  thank  you 
for  my  life,  Master/  he  pursued.  ‘There  is  my  hand;  I  bear 
no  ill-will  to  you,  either  for  my  bad  luck  or  your  better  sword- 
manship.’ 

The  Master  looked  steadily  at  him  for  an  instant,  then 
extended  his  hand  to  him.  ‘Bucklaw/  he  said,  ‘you  are  a 
generous  fellow,  and  I  have  done  you  wrong.  I  heartily  ask 
your  pardon  for  the  expression  which  offended  you;  it  was 
hastily  and  incautiously  uttered,  and  I  am  convinced  it  is 
totally  misapplied/ 

‘  Are  you  indeed,  Master  ? 5  said  Bucklaw,  his  face  resuming 
at  once  its  natural  expression  of  light-hearted  carlessness  and 
audacity ;  ‘  that  is  more  than  I  expected  of  you ;  for,  Master, 
men  say  you  are  not  ready  to  retract  your  opinions  and  your 
language.’ 

‘Not  when  I  have  well  considered  them,’  said  the  Master. 

‘  Then  you  are  a  little  wiser  than  I  am,  for  I  always  give  my 
friend  satisfaction  first,  and  explanation  afterwards.  If  one  of 
us  falls,  all  accounts  are  settled  ;  if  not,  men  are  never  so  ready 
for  peace  as  after  war.  But  what  does  that  bawling  brat  of  a 
boy  want  1  ’  said  Bucklaw.  ‘  I  wish  to  Heaven  he  had  come  a 
few  minutes  sooner !  and  yet  it  must  have  been  ended  some 
time,  and  perhaps  this  way  is  as  well  as  any  other.’ 

As  he  spoke,  the  boy  he  mentioned  came  up,  cudgelling  an 
ass,  on  which  he  was  mounted,  to  the  top  of  its  speed,  and 
sending,  like  one  of  Ossian’s  heroes,  his  voice  before  him  — 
‘  Gentlemen  —  gentlemen,  save  yourselves  !  for  the  guclewife 
bade  us  tell  ye  there  were  folk  in  her  house  had  taen  Captain 
Craigengelt,  and  were  seeking  for  Bucklaw,  and  that  ye  behoved 
to  ride  for  it.’ 

‘By  my  faith,  and  that’s  very  true,  my  man,’  said  Bucklaw; 

‘  and  there ’s  a  silver  sixpence  for  your  news,  and  I  would  give 
any  man  twice  as  much  would  tell  me  which  way  I  should 
ride.’ 

‘That  will  I,  Bucklaw,’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘ride  home  to 
Wolf’s  Crag  with  me.  There  are  places  in  the  old  tower  where 
you  might  lie  hid,  were  a  thousand  men  to  seek  you.’ 

‘  But  that  will  bring  you  into  trouble  yourself,  Master ;  and 
unless  you  be  in  the  Jacobite  scrape  already,  it  is  quite  need¬ 
less  for  me  to  drag  you  in.’ 

‘  Not  a  whit ;  I  have  nothing  to  fear.’ 


64 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘  Then  I  will  ride  with  you  blithely,  for,  to  say  the  truth,  I 
do  not  know  the  rendezvous  that  Craigie  was  to  guide  us  to 
this  night ;  and  I  am  sure  that,  if  he  is  taken,  he  will  tell  all 
the  truth  of  me,  and  twenty  lies  of  you,  in  order  to  save  him¬ 
self  from  the  withie.’ 

They  mounted  and  rode  off  in  company  accordingly,  striking 
off  the  ordinary  road,  and  holding  their  way  by  wild  moorish 
unfrequented  paths,  with  which  the  gentlemen  were  well  ac¬ 
quainted  from  the  exercise  of  the  chase,  but  through  wThich 
others  would  have  had  much  difficulty  in  tracing  their  course. 
They  rode  for  some  time  in  silence,  making  such  haste  as  the 
condition  of  Ravenswood’s  horse  permitted,  until  night  having 
gradually  closed  around  them,  they  discontinued  their  speed, 
both  from  the  difficulty  of  discovering  their  path,  and  from 
the  hope  that  they  were  beyond  the  reach  of  pursuit  or  observa¬ 
tion. 

‘And  now  that  we  have  drawn  bridle  a  bit,’  said  Bucklaw, 
‘  I  would  fain  ask  you  a  question,  Master.’ 

‘Ask,  and  welcome,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘but  forgive  my  not 
answering  it,  unless  I  think  proper.’ 

‘Well,  it  is  simply  this,’  answered  his  late  antagonist: 
‘  What,  in  the  name  of  old  Sathan,  could  make  you,  who  stand 
so  highly  on  your  reputation,  think  for  a  moment  of  drawing 
up  with  such  a  rogue  as  Craigengelt,  and  such  a  scapegrace  as 
folk  call  Bucklaw.  ?  ’ 

‘Simply,  because  I  was  desperate,  and  sought  desperate 
associates.’ 

‘  And  what  made  you  break  off  from  us  at  the  nearest  ?  ’ 
again  demanded  Bucklaw. 

‘Because  I  had  changed  my  mind,’  said  the  Master,  ‘and 
renounced  my  enterprise,  at  least  for  the  present.  And  now 
that  I  have  answered  your  questions  fairly  and  frankly,  tell  me 
what  makes  you  associate  with  Craigengelt,  so  much  beneath 
you  both  in  birth  and  in  spirit  ?  ’ 

‘In  plain  terms,’  answered  Bucklaw,  ‘because  I  am  a  fool, 
who  have  gambled  away  my  land  in  these  times.  My  grand¬ 
aunt,  Lady  Girnington,  has  taen  a  new  tack  of  life,  I  think, 
and  I  could  only  hope  to  get  something  by  a  change  of  govern¬ 
ment.  Craigie  was  a  sort  of  gambling  acquaintance  ;  he  saw 
my  condition,  and,  as  the  devil  is  always  at  one’s  elbow,  told 
me  fifty  lies  about  his  credentials  from  Versailles,  and  his  in¬ 
terest  at  Saint  Germains,  promised  me  a  captain’s  commission 
at  Paris,  and  I  have  been  ass  enough  to  put  my  thumb  under 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


65 


his  6elt.  I  daresay,  by  this  time,  he  lias  told  a  dozen  pretty 
stories  of  me  to  the  government.  And  this  is  what  I  have  got 
by  wine,  woman,  and  dice,  cocks,  dogs,  and  horses.’ 

‘Yes,  Bucklaw,’  said  the  Master,  ‘you  have  indeed  nourished 
in  your  bosom  the  snakes  that  are  now  stinging  you.’ 

‘  That ’s  home  as  well  as  true,  Master,’  replied  his  companion ; 
‘  but,  by  your  leave,  you  have  nursed  in  your  bosom  one  great 
goodly  snake  that  has  swallowed  all  the  rest,  and  is  as  sure  to 
devour  you  as  my  half-dozen  are  to  make  a  meal  on  all  that ’s 
left  of  Bucklaw,  which  is  but  what  lies  between  bonnet  and 
boot-heel.’ 

‘  I  must  not,’  answered  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  ‘challenge 
the  freedom  of  speech  in  which  I  have  set  example.  What,  to 
speak  without  a  metaphor,  do  you  call  this  monstrous  passion 
which  you  charge  me  with  fostering  h  ’ 

‘  Revenge,  my  good  sir  —  revenge  ;  which,  if  it  be  as  gentle¬ 
manlike  a  sin  as  wine  and  wassail,  with  their  et  easterns,  is  equally 
unchristian,  and  not  so  bloodless.  It  is  better  breaking  a  park- 
pale  to  watch  a  doe  or  damsel  than  to  shoot  an  old  man.’ 

‘  I  deny  the  purpose,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  ‘On 
my  soul,  I  had  no  such  intention ;  I  meant  but  to  confront  the 
oppressor  ere  I  left  my  native  land,  and  upbraid  him  with  his 
tyranny  and  its  consequences.  I  would  have  stated  my  wrongs 
so  that  they  would  have  shaken  his  soul  within  him.’ 

‘  Yes,’  answered  Bucklaw,  ‘  and  he  would  have  collared  you, 
and  cried  “help,”  and  then  you  would  have  shaken  the  soul 
out  of  him,  I  suppose.  Your  very  look  and  manner  would  have 
frightened  the  old  man  to  death.  ' 

‘  Consider  the  provocation,’  answered  Ravenswood  — ‘  consider 
the  ruin  and  death  procured  and  caused  by  his  hard-hearted 
cruelty  —  an  ancient  house  destroyed,  an  affectionate  father 
murdered !  Why,  in  our  old  Scottish  days,  he  that  sat  quiet 
under  such  wrongs  would  have  been  held  neither  fit  to  back  a 
friend  nor  face  a  foe.’ 

‘  Well,  Master,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  the  devil  deals  as 
cunningly  with  other  folk  as  he  deals  with  me ;  for  whenever 
I  am  about  to  commit  any  folly,  he  persuades  me  it  is  the 
most  necessary,  gallant,  gentlemanlike  thing  on  earth,  and 
I  am  up  to  saddlegirths  in  the  bog  before  I  see  that  the 
ground  is  soft.  And  you,  Master,  might  have  turned  out  a 

murd - a  homicide,  just  out  of  pure  respect  for  your  father’s 

memory.’ 

‘There  is  more  sense  in  your  language,  Bucklaw,’  replied 

VOL.  VIII  —  5 


66 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


the  Master,  ‘than  might  have  been  expected  from  your  con¬ 
duct.  It  is  too  true,  our  vices  steal  upon  us  in  forms  out¬ 
wardly  as  fair  as  those  of  the  demons  whom  the  superstitious 
represent  as  intriguing  with  the  human  race,  and  are  not  dis¬ 
covered  in  their  native  hideousness  until  we  have  clasped  them 
in  our  arms.' 

‘But  we  may  throw  them  from  us,  though,’  said  Bucklaw, 
‘  and  that  is  what  I  shall  think  of  doing  one  of  these  days  — 
that  is,  when  old  Lady  Girnington  dies.’ 

‘  Did  you  ever  hear  the  expression  of  the  English  divine  1  ’ 
said  Ravenswood —  ‘  “  Hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions,”  —  as 
much  as  to  say,  they  are  more  often  formed  than  executed.’ 

‘  Well,’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘but  I  will  begin  this  blessed  night, 
and  have  determined  not  to  drink  above  one  quart  of  wine,  unless 
your  claret  be  of  extraordinary  quality.’ 

‘You  will  find  little  to  tempt  you  at  Wolfs  Crag,’  said  the 
Master.  ‘  I  know  not  that  I  can  promise  you  more  than  the 
shelter  of  my  roof;  all,  and  more  than  all,  our  stock  of  wine 
and  provisions  was  exhausted  at  the  late  occasion.’ 

‘Long  may  it  be  ere  provision  is  needed  for  the  like  purpose,’ 
answered  Bucklaw ;  ‘  but  you  should  not  drink  up  the  last  flask 
at  a  dirge  ;  there  is  ill  luck  in  that.’ 

‘There  is  ill  luck,  I  think,  in  whatever  belongs  to  me,’  said 
Ravenswood.  ‘But  yonder  is  Wolf’s  Crag,  and  whatever  it 
still  contains  is  at  your  service.’ 

The  roar  of  the  sea  had  long  announced  their  approach  to 
the  cliffs,  on  the  summit  of  which,  like  the  nest  of  some  sea- 
eagle,  the  founder  of  the  fortalice  had  perched  his  eyrie.  The 
pale  moon,  which  had  hitherto  been  contending  with  flitting 
clouds,  now  shone  out,  and  gave  them  a  view  of  the  solitary 
and  naked  tower,  situated  on  a  projecting  cliff  that  beetled  on 
the  German  Ocean.  On  three  sides  the  rock  was  precipitous ; 
on  the  fourth,  which  was  that  towards  the  land,  it  had  been 
originally  fenced  by  an  artificial  ditch  and  drawbridge,  but  the 
latter  was  broken  down  and  ruinous,  and  the  former  had  been 
in  part  filled  up,  so  as  to  allow  passage  for  a  horseman  into 
the  narrow  courtyard,  encircled  on  two  sides  with  low  offices 
and  stables,  partly  ruinous,  and  closed  on  the  landward  front 
by  a  low  embattled  wall,  while  the  remaining  side  of  the  quad¬ 
rangle  was  occupied  by  the  tower  itself,  which,  tall  and  narrow, 
and  built  of  a  greyish  stone,  stood  glimmering  in  the  moonlight, 
like  the  sheeted  spectre  of  some  huge  giant.  A  wilder  or  more 
disconsolate  dwelling  it  was  perhaps  difficult  to  conceive.  The 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


67 


sombrous  and  heavy  sound  of  the  billows,  successively  dash¬ 
ing  against  the  rocky  beach  at  a  profound  distance  beneath, 
was  to  the  ear  what  the  landscape  was  to  the  eye  —  a  symbol 
of  unvaried  and  monotonous  melancholy,  not  unmingled  with 
horror. 

Although  the  night  was  not  far  advanced,  there  was  no 
sign  of  living  inhabitant  about  this  forlorn  abode,  excepting 
that  one,  and  only  one,  of  the  narrow  and  stanchelled  windows 
which  appeared  at  irregular  heights  and  distances  in  the  walls 
of  the  building  showed  a  small  glimmer  of  light. 

‘  There,’  said  Ptavenswood,  ‘  sits  the  only  male  domestic  that 
remains  to  the  house  of  Ravenswood  ;  and  it  is  well  that  he 
does  remain  there,  since  otherwise  we  had  little  hope  to  find 
either  light  or  fire.  But  follow  me  cautiously ;  the  road  is 
narrow,  and  admits,  only  one  horse  in  front.’ 

In  effect,  the  path  led  along  a  kind  of  isthmus,  at  the  pen¬ 
insular  extremity  of  which  the  tower  was  situated,  with  that  ex¬ 
clusive  attention  to  strength  and  security,  in  preference  to  every 
circumstance  of  convenience,  wdiich  dictated  to  the  Scottish 
barons  the  choice  of  their  situations,  as  well  as  their  style  of 
building. 

By  adopting  the  cautious  mode  of  approach  recommended 
by  the  proprietor  of  this  wild  hold,  they  entered  the  court¬ 
yard  in  safety.  But  it  was  long  ere  the  efforts  of  Ravenswood, 
though  loudly  exerted  by  knocking  at  the  low-browed  entrance, 
and  repeated  shouts  to  Caleb  to  open  the  gate  and  admit  them, 
received  any  answer. 

‘  The  old  man  must  be  departed,’  he  began  to  say,  ‘  or  fallen 
into  some  fit ;  for  the  noise  I  have  made  would  have  waked  the 
seven  sleepers.’ 

At  length  a  timid  and  hesitating  voice  replied,  ‘  Master  — 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  is  it  you  1  ’ 

‘Yes,  it  is  I,  Caleb  ;  open  the  door  quickly.’ 

‘  But  is  it  you  in  very  blood  and  body  1  For  I  would  sooner 
face  fifty  deevils  as  my  master’s  ghaist,  or  even  his  wraith  ; 
wherefore,  aroint  ye,  if  ye  were  ten  times  my  master,  unless 
ye  come  in  bodily  shape,  lith  and  limb.’ 

‘  It  is  I,  you  old  fool,’  answered  Ravenswood,  ‘  in  bodily  shape 
and  alive,  save  that  I  am  half  dead  with  cold.’ 

The  light  at  the  upper  window  disappeared,  and  glancing 
from  loophole  to  loophole  in  slow  succession,  gave  intimation 
that  the  bearer  was  in  the  act  of  descending,  with  great  de¬ 
liberation,  a  winding  staircase  occupying  one  of  the  turrets 


68 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


which  graced  the  angles  of  the  old  tower.  The  tardiness  of  his 
descent  extracted  some  exclamations  of  impatience  from  Ravens- 
wood,  and  several  oaths  from  his  less  patient  and  more  mer¬ 
curial  companion.  Caleb  again  paused  ere  he  unbolted  the 
door,  and  once  more  asked  if  they  wTere  men  of  mould  that 
demanded  entrance  at  this  time  of  night. 

‘  Were  I  near  you,  you  old  fool,7  said  Bucklaw,  ‘  I  would  give 
you  sufficient  proofs  of  my  bodily  condition.7 

‘  Open  the  gate,  Caleb,7  said  his  master,  in  a  more  sooth¬ 
ing  tone,  partly  from  his  regard  to  the  ancient  and  faithful 
seneschal,  partly  perhaps  because  he  thought  that  angry  words 
would  be  thrown  away,  so  long  as  Caleb  had  a  stout  ii on- 
clenched  oaken  door  betwixt  his  person  and  the  speakers. 

At  length  Caleb,  with  a  trembling  hand,  undid  the  bars,, 
opened  the  heavy  door,  and  stood  before  them,  exhibiting  his 
thin  grey  hairs,  bald  forehead,  and  sharp  high  features,  illumi¬ 
nated  by  a  quivering  lamp  which  he  held  in  one  hand,  while  he 
shaded  and  protected  its  flame  with  the  other.  The  timorous, 
courteous  glance  which  he  threw  around  him,  the  effect  of  the 
partial  light  upon  his  white  hair  and  illumined  features,  might 
have  made  a  good  painting  ;  but  our  travellers  were  too  im¬ 
patient  for  security  against  the  rising  storm  to  permit  them  to 
indulge  themselves  in  studying  the  picturesque.  ‘  Is  it  you, 
my  dear  master  ?  —  is  it  you  yourself,  indeed  ? 7  exclaimed  the  old 
domestic.  £  I  am  wae  ye  suld  hae  stude  waiting  at  your  ain  gate ; 
butwhawad  hae  thought  o7  seeing  ye  sae  sune,  and  a  strange 

gentleman  wdth  a -  (Here  he  exclaimed  apart,  as  it  were,  and 

to  some  inmate  of  the  tower,  in  a  voice  not  meant  to  be  heard 
by  those  in  the  court)  Mysie  —  Mysie,  woman  !  stir  for  dear  life, 
and  get  the  fire  mended  ;  take  the  auld  three-legged  stool,  or 
ony  thing  that  7s  readiest  that  will  make  a  lowe.  I  doubt  we  are 
but  puirly  provided,  no  expecting  ye  this  some  months,  when 
doubtless  ye  wad  hae  been  received  conform  till  your  rank,  as 
gude  right  is  ;  but  natheless - 7 

‘  Natheless,  Caleb,7  said  the  Master,  ‘we  must  have  our 
horses  put  up,  and  ourselves  too,  the  best  way  we  can.  I  hope 
you  are  not  sorry  to  see  me  sooner  than  you  expected  'l  ’ 

‘  Sorry,  my  lord  !  I  am  sure  ye  sail  aye  be  my  lord  wi7 
honest  folk,  as  your  noble  ancestors  hae  been  these  three 
hundred  years,  and  never  asked  a  Whig’s  leave.  Sorry  to  see 
the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  at  ane  o’  his  ain  castles  !  (Then  again 
apart  to  his  unseen  associate  behind  the  screen)  Mysie,  kill 
the  brood-hen  without  thinking  twice  on  it ;  let  them  care  that 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMQOR 


69 


come  ahint.  No  to  say  it’s  our  best  dwelling,’  lie  added,  turn 
ing  to  Bucklaw ;  ‘but  just  a  strength  for  the  Lord  of  Ravens- 
wood  to  flee  until  —  that  is,  not  to  flee,  but  to  retreat  until  in 
troublous  times,  like  the  present,  when  it  was  ill  convenient  for 
him  to  live  farther  in  the  country  in  ony  of  his  better  and  mair 
principal  manors ;  but,  for  its  antiquity,  maist  folk  think  that 
the  outside  of  Wolf  s  Crag  is  worthy  of  a  large  perusal.’ 

‘  And  you  are  determined  we  shall  have  time  to  make  it,’  said 
Ravenswood,  somewhat  amused  with  the  shifts  the  old  man 
used  to  detain  them  without  doors  until  his  confederate  Mysie 
had  made  her  preparations  within. 

‘0,  never  mind  the  outside  of  the  house,  my  good  friend,’ 
said  Bucklaw ;  ‘  let ’s  see  the  inside,  and  let  our  horses  see  the 
stable,  that ’s  all.’ 

‘  0  yes,  sir  —  ay,  sir  —  unquestionably,  sir  —  my  lord  and 
ony  of  his  honourable  companions - ’ 

‘  But  our  horses,  my  old  friend  —  our  horses ;  they  will  be 
dead-foundered  by  standing  here  in  the  cold  after  riding  hard, 
and  mine  is  too  good  to  be  spoiled ;  therefore,  once  more,  our 
horses,’  exclaimed  Bucklaw. 

‘  True  —  ay — your  horses  —  yes  —  I  will  call  the  grooms  ’ ;  and 
sturdily  did  Caleb  roar  till  the  old  tower  rang  again — ‘John 
—  William  —  Saunders  !  The  lads  are  gane  out,  or  sleeping,’  he 
observed,  after  pausing  for  an  answer,  which  he  knew  that  he 
had  no  human  chance  of  receiving.  ‘  A’  gaes  wrang  when  the 
Master ’s  out-bye ;  but  I  ’ll  take  care  o’  your  cattle  mysell.’ 

‘I  think  you  had  better,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘otherwise  I  see 
little  chance  of  their  being  attended  to  at  all.’ 

‘Whisht,  my  lord  —  whisht,  for  God’s  sake,’  said  Caleb,  in  an 
imploring  tone,  and  apart  to  his  master;  ‘if  ye  dinna  regard 
your  ain  credit,  think  on  mine ;  we  ’ll  hae  hard  eneugh  wark  to 
mak  a  decent  night  o’t,  wi’  a’  the  lees  I  can  tell.’ 

‘Well,  well,  never  mind,’  said  his  master;  ‘go  to  the  stable. 
There  is  hay  and  corn,  I  trust  1  ’ 

‘  Ou  ay,  plenty  of  hay  and  corn  ’ ;  this  was  uttered  boldly 
and  aloud,  and,  in  a  lower  tone,  ‘there  was  some  half  fous  o’ 
aits,  and  some  taits  o’  meadow-hay,  left  after  the  burial.’ 

‘Very  well,’  said  Ravenswood,  taking  the  lamp  from  his 
domestic’s  unwilling  hand,  ‘I  will  show  the  stranger  upstairs 
myself.’ 

‘  I  canna  think  o’  that,  my  lord ;  if  ye  wad  but  have  five 
minutes’,  or  ten  minutes’,  or,  at  maist,  a  quarter  of  an  hour’s 
patience,  and  look  at  the  fine  moonlight  prospect  of  the  Bass 


70 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  North  Berwick  Law  till  I  sort  the  horses,  I  would  marshal 
ye  up,  as  reason  is  ye  suld  he  marshalled,  your  lordship  and 
your  honourable  visitor.  And  I  hae  lockit  up  the  siller  candle¬ 
sticks,  and  the  lamp  is  not  fit - ’ 

.  ‘  It  will  do  very  well  in  the  meantime,’  said  Ravenswood, 
‘  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  for  want  of  light  in  the  stable, 
for,  if  I  recollect,  half  the  roof  is  off.’ 

‘Very  true,  my  lord,’  replied  the  trusty  adherent,  and  with 
ready  wit  instantly  added,  ‘and  the  lazy  sclater  loons  have 
never  come  to  put  it  on  a’  this  while,  your  lordship.’ 

‘If  I  were  disposed  to  jest  at  the  calamities  of  my  house,’ 
said  Ravenswood,  as  he  led  the  way  upstairs,  ‘  poor  old  Caleb 
would  furnish  me  with  ample  means.  His  passion  consists  in 
representing  things  about  our  miserable  menage,  not  as  they 
are,  but  as,  in  his  opinion,  they  ought  to  be ;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  I  have  been  often  diverted  with  the  poor  wretch’s  expe¬ 
dients  to  supply  what  he  thought  was  essential  for  the  credit 
of  the  family,  and  his  still  more  generous  apologies  for  the 
want  of  those  articles  for  which  his  ingenuity  could  discover 
no  substitute.  But  though  the  tower  is  none  of  the  largest,  I 
shall  have  some  trouble  without  him  to  find  the  apartment  in 
which  there  is  a  fire.’ 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  opened  the  door  of  the  hall.  ‘  Here, 
at  least,’  he  said,  ‘  there  is  neither  hearth  nor  harbour.’ 

It  was  indeed  a  scene  of  desolation.  A  large  vaulted  room, 
the  beams  of  which,  combined  like  those  of  Westminster  Hall, 
were  rudely  carved  at  the  extremities,  remained  nearly  in  the 
situation  in  which  it  had  been  left  after  the  entertainment  at 
Allan  Lord  Ravenswood’s  funeral.  Overturned  pitchers,  and 
black-jacks,  and  pewter  stoups,  and  flagons  still  encumbered  the 
large  oaken  table;  glasses,  those  more  perishable  implements 
of  conviviality,  many  of  which  had  been  voluntarily  sacrificed 
by  the  guests  in  their  enthusiastic  pledges  to  favourite  toasts, 
strewed  the  stone  floor  with  their  fragments.  As  for  the 
articles  of  plate,  lent  for  the  purpose  by  friends  and  kinsfolk, 
those  had  been  carefully  withdrawn  so  soon  as  the  ostentatious 
display  of  festivity,  equally  unnecessary  and  strangely  timed, 
had  been  made  and  ended.  Nothing,  in  short,  remained  that 
indicated  wealth ;  all  the  signs  were  those  of  recent  wasteful¬ 
ness  and  present  desolation.  The  black  cloth  hangings,  which, 
on  the  late  mournful  occasion,  replaced  the  tattered  moth-eaten 
tapestries,  had  been  partly  pulled  down,  and,  dangling  from 
the  wall  in  irregular  festoons,  disclosed  the  rough  stonework 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


71 


of  the  building,  unsmoothed  either  by  plaster  or  the  chisel. 
The  seats  thrown  down,  or  left  in  disorder,  intimated  the 
careless  confusion  which  had  concluded  the  mournful  revel. 
‘This  room,’  said  Ravenswood,  holding  up  the  lamp — ‘this 
room,  Mr.  Hayston,  was  riotous  when  it  should  have  been  sad ; 
it  is  a  just  retribution  that  it  should  now  be  sad  when  it  ought 
to  be  cheerful.’ 

They  left  this  disconsolate  apartment,  and  went  upstairs, 
where,  after  opening  one  or  two  doors  in  vain,  Ravenswood  led 
the  way  into  a  little  matted  ante-room,  in  which,  to  their  great 
joy,  they  found  a  tolerably  good  fire,  which  Mysie,  by  some 
such  expedient  as  Caleb  had  suggested,  had  supplied  with  a 
reasonable  quantity  of  fuel.  Glad  at  the  heart  to  see  more  of 
comfort  than  the  castle  had  yet  seemed  to  offer,  Bucklaw 
rubbed  his  hands  heartily  over  the  fire,  and  now  listened  with 
more  complacency  to  the  apologies  which  the  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood  offered.  ‘Comfort,’  he  said,  ‘I  cannot  provide  for  you, 
for  I  have  it  not  for  myself ;  it  is  long  since  these  walls  have 
known  it,  if,  indeed,  they  were  ever  acquainted  with  it.  Shelter 
and  safety,  I  think,  I  can  promise  you.’ 

‘Excellent  matters,  Master,’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘and,  with  a 
mouthful  of  food  and  wine,  positively  all  I  can  require  to¬ 
night.’ 

‘  I  fear,’  said  the  Master,  ‘  your  supper  will  be  a  poor  one ; 
I  hear  the  matter  in  discussion  betwixt  Caleb  and  Mysie.  Poor 
Balderstone  is  something  deaf,  amongst  his  other  accomplish¬ 
ments,  so  that  much  of  what  he  means  should  be  spoken  aside 
is  overheard  by  the  whole  audience,  and  especially  by  those 
from  whom  he  is  most  anxious  to  conceal  his  private  manoeuvres. 
Hark !  ’ 

They  listened,  and  heard  the  old  domestic’s  voice  in  conver¬ 
sation  with  Mysie  to  the  following  effect :  — 

‘Just  mak  the  best o’t  — mak  the  best  o’t,  woman ;  it ’s  easy 
to  put  a  fair  face  on  ony  thing.’ 

‘  But  the  auld  brood-hen  ?  She  ’ll  be  as  teugh  as  bow-strings 
and  bend-leather !  ’ 

‘  Say  ye  made  a  mistake  —  say  ye  made  a  mistake,  Mysie,’ 
replied  the  faithful  seneschal,  in  a  soothing  and  undertoned 
voice  ;  ‘  tak  it  a’  on  yoursell ;  never  let  the  credit  o’  the  house 
suffer.  ’ 

‘  But  the  brood-hen,’  remonstrated  Mysie — ‘ou,  she ’s  sitting 
some  gate  aneath  the  dais  in  the  hall,  and  I  am  feared  to  gae 
in  in  the  dark  for  the  bogle ;  and  if  I  didna  see  the  bogle,  I 


72 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


could  as  ill  see  the  hen,  for  it ’s  pit-mirk,  and  there ’s  no  another 
light  in  the  house,  save  that  very  blessed  lamp  whilk  the 
Master  has  in  his  ain  hand.  And  if  I  had  the  hen,  she ’s  to  pu’, 
and  to  draw,  and  to  dress ;  how  can  I  do  that,  and  them  sitting 
by  the  only  fire  we  have  ?  ’ 

‘Weel,  weel,  Mysie,’  said  the  butler,  ‘bide  ye  there  a  wee, 
and  1 11  try  to  get  the  lamp  wiled  away  frae  them.’ 

Accordingly,  Caleb  Balderstone  entered  the  apartment,  little 
aware  that  so  much  of  his  by-play  had  been  audible  there. 
‘Well,  Caleb,  my  old  friend,  is  there  any  chance  of  supper?’ 
said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

‘  Chance  of  supper,  your  lordship  ?  ’  said  Caleb,  with  an 
emphasis  of  strong  scorn  at  the  implied  doubt.  ‘  How  should 
there  be  ony  question  of  that,  and  us  in  your  lordship’s  house  ? 
Chance  of  supper,  indeed  !  But  ye  ’ll  no  be  for  butcher-meat  ? 
There ’s  walth  o’  fat  poultry,  ready  either  for  spit  or  brander. 
The  fat  capon,  Mysie !  ’  he  added,  calling  out  as  boldly  as  if 
such  a  thing  had  been  in  existence. 

‘  Quite  unnecessary,’  said  Bucklaw,  who  deemed  himself 
bound  in  courtesy  to  relieve  some  part  of  the  anxious 
butler’s  perplexity,  ‘  if  you  have  anything  cold,  or  a  morsel  of 
bread.  ’ 

‘  The  best  of  bannocks  !  ’  exclaimed  Caleb,  much  relieved  ; 
‘  and,  for  cauld  meat,  a’  that  we  hae  is  cauld  eneugh,  —  howbeit, 
maist  of  the  cauld  meat  and  pastry  was  gien  to  the  puir  folk 
after  the  ceremony  of  interment,  as  gude  reason  was ;  never¬ 
theless  - ’ 

‘  Come,  Caleb,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  ‘  I  must  cut 
this  matter  short.  This  is  the  young  Laird  of  Bucklaw ;  he  is 
under  hiding,  and  therefore,  you  know - ’ 

‘  He  ’ll  be  nae  nicer  than  your  lordship’s  honour,  I’se  warrant,’ 
answered  Caleb,  cheerfully,  with  a  nod  of  intelligence ;  ‘  I  am 
sorry  that  the  gentleman  is  under  distress,  hut  I  am  blithe  that 
he  canna  say  muckle  agane  our  housekeeping,  for  I  believe  his 
ain  pinches  may  match  ours ;  no  that  we  are  pinched,  thank 
God,’  he  added,  retracting  the  admission  which  he  had  made  in 
his  first  burst  of  joy,  ‘but  nae  doubt  we  are  waur  aff  than  we 
hae  been,  or  suld  be.  And  for  eating  —  what  signifies  telling  a 
lee?  there’s  just  the  hinder  end  of  the  mutton-ham  that  has 
been  hut  three  times  on  the  table,  and  the  nearer  the  bane  the 
sweeter,  as  your  honours  weel  ken ;  and  —  there ’s  the  heel  of  the 
ewe-milk  kebbuck,  wi’  a  bit  of  nice  butter,  and  —  and  —  that ’s  a’ 
that ’s  to  trust  to.  ’  And  with  great  alacrity  he  produced  his  slender 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


73 


stock  of  provisions,  and  placed  them  with  much  formality  upon 
a  small  round  table  betwixt  the  two  gentlemen,  who  were  not 
deterred  either  by  the  homely  quality  or  limited  quantity  of 
the  repast  from  doing  it  full  justice.  Caleb  in  the  meanwhile 
waited  on  them  with  grave  officiousness,  as  if  anxious  to  make 
up,  by  his  own  respectful  assiduity,  for  the  want  of  all  other 
attendance. 

But,  alas  !  how  little  on  such  occasions  can  form,  however 
anxiously  and  scrupulously  observed,  supply  the  lack  of  sub¬ 
stantial  fare  !  Bucklaw,  who  had  eagerly  eaten  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  thrice-sacked  mutton-ham,  now  began  to  demand 
ale. 

‘I  wadna  just  presume  to  recommend  our  ale,’  said  Caleb; 
‘the  maut  was  ill  made,  and  there  was  awfu’  thunner  last  week  ; 
but  siccan  water  as  the  Tower  well  has  ye  11  seldom  see,  Buck- 
law,  and  that  I’se  engage  for.’ 

‘  But  if  your  ale  is  had,  you  can  let  us  have  some  wine,’  said 
Bucklaw,  making  a  grimace  at  the  mention  of  the  pure  element 
which  Caleb  so  earnestly  recommended. 

‘  Wine  !  ’  answered  Caleb,  undauntedly,  ‘  eneugh  of  wine  !  It 
was  but  twa  days  syne  —  wae ’s  me  for  the  cause  —  there  was  as 
much  wine  drunk  in  this  house  as  would  have  floated  a  pinnace. 
There  never  was  lack  of  wine  at  Wolfs  Crag.’ 

‘  Do  fetch  us  some  then,’  said  his  master,  ‘  instead  of  talking 
about  it.’  And  Caleb  boldly  departed. 

Every  expended  butt  in  the  old  cellar  did  he  set  a-tilt,  and 
shake  with  the  desperate  expectation  of  collecting  enough  of 
the  grounds  of  claret  to  fill  the  large  pewter  measure  which  he 
carried  in  his  hand.  Alas  !  each  had  been  too  devoutly  drained ; 
and,  with  all  the  squeezing  and  manoeuvring  which  his  craft  as 
a  butler  suggested,  he  could  only  collect  about  half  a  quart 
that  seemed  presentable.  Still,  however,  Caleb  was  too  good  a 
general  to  renounce  the  field  without  a  stratagem  to  cover  his 
retreat.  He  undauntedly  threw  down  an  empty  flagon,  as  if 
he  had  stumbled  at  the  entrance  of  the  apartment,  called 
upon  Mysie  to  wipe  up  the  wine  that  had  never  been  spilt,  and 
placing  the  other  vessel  on  the  table,  hoped  there  was  still 
enough  left  for  their  honours.  There  was  indeed ;  for  even 
Bucklaw,  a  sworn  friend  to  the  grape,  found  no  encouragement 
to  renew  his  first  attack  on  the  vintage  of  Wolfs  Crag,  but 
contented  himself,  however  reluctantly,  with  a  draught  of  fair 
water.  Arrangements  were  now  made  for  his  repose  ;  and  as 
the  secret  chamber  was  assigned  for  this  purpose,  it  furnished 


74 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


Caleb  with  a  first-rate  and  most  plausible  apology  for  all 
deficiencies  of  furniture,  bedding,  etc. 

‘  For  wha,’  said  he,  ‘  would  have  thought  of  the  secret 
chaumer  being  needed  ?  It  has  not  been  used  since  the  time 
of  the  Cowrie  Conspiracy,  and  I  durst  never  let  a  woman  ken 
of  the  entrance  to  it,  or  your  honour  will  allow  that  it  wad  not 
hae  been  a  secret  chaumer  lang.’ 


CHAPTER  VIII 


The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead, 

No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within, 

Nor  merry  bowl,  nor  welcome  bed  ; 

‘  Here ’s  sorry  cheer,’  quoth  the  Heir  of  Linne. 

Old  Ballad. 

THE  feelings  of  the  prodigal  Heir  of  Linne,  as  expressed 
in  that  excellent  old  song,  when,  after  dissipating  his 
whole  fortune,  he  found  himself  the  deserted  inhabitant 
of  ‘the  lonely  lodge/  might  perhaps  have  some  resemblance  to 
those  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  in  his  deserted  mansion  of 
Wolfs  Crag.  The  Master,  however,  had  this  advantage  over 
the  spendthrift  in  the  legend,  that,  if  he  was  in  similar  distress, 
he  could  not  impute  it  to  his  own  imprudence.  His  misery  had 
been  bequeathed  to  him  by  his  father,  and,  joined  to  his  high 
blood,  and  to  a  title  which  the  courteous  might  give  or  the 
churlish  withhold  at  their  pleasure,  it  was  the  whole  inherit¬ 
ance  he  had  derived  from  his  ancestry. 

Perhaps  this  melancholy  yet  consolatory  reflection  crossed 
the  mind  of  the  unfortunate  young  nobleman  with  a  breathing 
of  comfort.  Favourable  to  calm  reflection,  as  well  as  to  the 
Muses,  the  morning,  while  it  dispelled  the  shades  of  night,  had 
a  composing  and  sedative  effect  upon  the  stormy  passions  by 
which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  been  agitated  on  the 
preceding  day.  He  now  felt  himself  able  to  analyse  the  differ¬ 
ent  feelings  by  which  he  was  agitated,  and  much  resolved  to 
combat  and  to  subdue  them.  The  morning,  which  had  arisen 
calm  and  bright,  gave  a  pleasant  effect  even  to  the  waste  moor¬ 
land  view  which  was  seen  from  the  castle  on  looking  to  the  land¬ 
ward  ;  and  the  glorious  ocean,  crisped  with  a  thousand  rippling 
waves  of  silver,  extended  on  the  other  side,  in  awful  yet  com¬ 
placent  majesty,  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  With  such  scenes 
of  calm  sublimity  the  human  heart  sympathises  even  in  its 
most  disturbed  moods,  and  deeds  of  honour  and  virtue  are  in¬ 
spired  by  their  majestic  influence. 


76 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


To  seek  out  Bucklaw  in  the  retreat  which  he  had  afforded 
him  was  the  first  occupation  of  the  Master,  after  he  had  per¬ 
formed,  with  a  scrutiny  unusually  severe,  the  important  task  of 
self-examination.  ‘  How  now,  Bucklaw  1  ’  was  his  morning’s 
salutation  —  ‘  how  like  you  the  couch  in  which  the  exiled  Earl 
of  Angus  once  slept  in  security,  when  he  was  pursued  by  the 
full  energy  of  a  king’s  resentment  ?  ’ 

‘Umph  !  ’  returned  the  sleeper  awakened;  ‘I  have  little  to 
complain  of  where  so  great  a  man  was  quartered  before  me,  only 
the  mattress  was  of  the  hardest,  the  vault  somewhat  damp,  the 
rats  rather  more  mutinous  than  I  would  have  expected  from 
the  state  of  Caleb’s  larder ;  and  if  there  had  been  shutters  to 
that  grated  window,  or  a  curtain  to  the  bed,  I  should  think  it, 
upon  the  whole,  an  improvement  in  your  accommodations.’ 

‘It  is,  to  be  sure,  forlorn  enough,’  said  the  Master,  looking 
around  the  small  vault ;  ‘  but  if  you  will  rise  and  leave  it,  Caleb 
will  endeavour  to  find  you  a  better  breakfast  than  your  supper 
of  last  night.’ 

‘Pray,  let  it  be  no  better,’  said  Bucklaw,  getting  up,  and 
endeavouring  to  dress  himself  as  well  as  the  obscurity  of  the 
place  would  permit  —  ‘  let  it,  I  say,  be  no  better,  if  you  mean 
me  to  persevere  in  my  proposed  reformation.  The  very  rec¬ 
ollection  of  Caleb’s  beverage  has  done  more  to  suppress  my 
longing  to  open  the  day  with  a  morning  draught  than  twenty 
sermons  would  have  done.  And  you,  Master,  have  you  been 
able  to  give  battle  valiantly  to  your  bosom-snake  ?  You  see 
1  am  in  the  way  of  smothering  my  vipers  one  by  one.’ 

‘  I  have  commenced  the  battle,  at  least,  Bucklaw,  and  I  have 
had  a  fair  vision  of  an  angel  who  descended  to  my  assistance,’ 
replied  the  Master. 

‘  Woe ’s  me  !  ’  said  his  guest,  ‘  no  vision  can  I  expect,  unless  my 
aunt,  Lady  Girnington,  should  betake  herself  to  the  tomb ;  and 
then  it  would  be  the  substance  of  her  heritage  rather  than  the 
appearance  of  her  phantom  that  I  should  consider  as  the  support 
of  my  good  resolutions.  But  this  same  breakfast,  Master  — 
does  the  deer  that  is  to  make  the  pasty  run  yet  on  foot,  as  the 
ballad  has  it  ? 7 

‘I  will  inquire  into  that  matter,’  said  his  entertainer;  and, 
leaving  the  apartment,  he  went  in  search  of  Caleb,  whom,  after 
some  difficulty,  he  found  in  an  obscure  sort  of  dungeon,  which 
had  been  in  former  times  the  buttery  of  the  castle.  Here  the 
old  man  was  employed  busily  in  the  doubtful  task  of  burnishing 
a  pewter  flagon  until  it  should  take  the  hue  and  semblance  of 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


77 


silver-plate.  ‘  I  think  it  may  do  —  I  think  it  might  pass,  if 
they  winna  bring  it  ower  muckle  in  the  light  o’  the  window  !  * 
were  the  ejaculations  which  he  muttered  from  time  to  time,  as 
if  to  encourage  himself  in  his  undertaking,  when  he  was  inter¬ 
rupted  by  the  voice  of  his  master. 

‘Take  this/  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  ‘and  get  what 
is  necessary  for  the  family.’  And  with  these  words  he  gave 
to  the  old  butler  the  purse  which  had  on  the  preceding  evening 
so  narrowly  escaped  the  fangs  of  Craigengelt. 

The  old  man  shook  his  silvery  and  thin  locks,  and  looked 
with  an  expression  of  the  most  heartfelt  anguish  at  his  master 
as  he  weighed  in  his  hand  the  slender  treasure,  and  said  in 
a  sorrowful  voice,  ‘  And  is  this  a’  that ’s  left  ?  ’ 

‘All  that  is  left  at  present,’  said  the  Master,  affecting  more 
cheerfulness  than  perhaps  he  really  felt,  ‘  is  j  ust  the  green  purse 
and  the  wee  pickle  gowd,  as  the  old  song  says ;  hut  we  shall 
do  better  one  day,  Caleb.’ 

‘  Before  that  day  comes,’  said  Caleb,  ‘  I  doubt  there  will  be 
an  end  of  an  auld  sang,  and  an  auld  serving-man  to  boot.  But 
it  disna  become  me  to  speak  that  gate  to  your  honour,  and  you 
looking  sae  pale.  Tak  back  the  purse,  and  keep  it  to  be 
making  a  show  before  company;  for  if  your  honour  would  just 
tak  a  bidding,  and  be  whiles  taking  it  out  afore  folk  and 
putting  it  up  again,  there ’s  naebody  would  refuse  us  trust,  for 
a’  that ’s  come  and  gane  yet.’ 

‘  But,  Caleb,’  said  the  Master,  ‘  I  still  intend  to  leave  this 
country  very  soon,  and  I  desire  to  do  so  with  the  reputation  of 
an  honest  man,  leaving  no  debt  behind  me,  at  least  of  my  own 
contracting.’ 

‘  And  gude  right  ye  suld  gang  away  as  a  true  man,  and  so 
ye  shall ;  for  auld  Caleb  can  tak  the  wyte  of  whatever  is  taen 
on  for  the  house,  and  then  it  will  be  a’  just  ae  man’s  burden  ; 
and  I  will  live  just  gs  weel  in  the  tolbooth  as  out  of  it,  and  the 
credit  of  the  family  will  be  a’  safe  and  sound.’ 

The  Master  endeavoured,  in  vain,  to  make  Caleb  compre¬ 
hend  that  the  butler’s  incurring  the  responsibility  of  debts  in 
his  own  person  would  rather  add  to  than  remove  the  objections 
which  he  had  to  their  being  contracted.  He  spoke  to  a  premier 
too  busy  in  devising  ways  and  means  to  puzzle  himself  with  re¬ 
futing  the  arguments  offered  against  their  justice  or  expediency. 

‘  There ’s  Eppie  Sma’trash  will  trust  us  for  ale,’  said  Caleb 
to  himself  —  ‘  she  has  lived  a’  her  life  under  the  family  —  and 
maybe  wi’  a  soup  brandy  ;  I  canna  say  for  wine  — she  is  but  a 


78 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


lone  woman,  and  gets  her  claret  by  a  runlet  at  a  time ;  but  I  ’ll 
work  a  wee  drap  out  o’  her  by  fair  means  or  foul.  For  doos, 
there ’s  the  doocot ;  there  will  be  poultry  amang  the  tenants, 
though  Luckie  Chirnside  says  she  has  paid  the  kain  twice  ower. 
W e  ’ll  mak  shift,  an  it  like  your  honour  —  we  ’ll  mak  shift ;  keep 
your  heart  abune,  for  the  house  sail  baud  its  credit  as  lang  as 
auld  Caleb  is  to  the  fore.’ 

The  entertainment  which  the  old  man’s  exertions  of  various 
kinds  enabled  him  to  present  to  the  young  gentlemen  for  three 
or  four  days  was  certainly  of  no  splendid  description,  but  it 
may  readily  be  believed  it  was  set  before  no  critical  guests ; 
and  even  the  distresses,  excuses,  evasions,  and  shifts  of  Caleb 
afforded  amusement  to  the  young  men,  and  added  a  sort  of 
interest  to  the  scrambling  and  irregular  style  of  their  table. 
They  had  indeed  occasion  to  seize  on  every  circumstance  that 
might  serve  to  diversify  or  enliven  time,  which  otherwise  passed 
away  so  heavily. 

Bucklaw,  shut  out  from  his  usual  field-sports  and  joyous 
carouses  by  the  necessity  of  remaining  concealed  within  the 
walls  of  the  castle,  became  a  joyless  and  uninteresting  com¬ 
panion.  When  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  would  no  longer 
fence  or  play  at  shovel-board  ;  when  he  himself  had  polished  to 
the  extremity  the  coat  of  his  palfrey  with  brush,  currycomb,  and 
hair-cloth ;  when  he  had  seen  him  eat  his  provender,  and  gently 
lie  down  in  his  stall,  he  could  hardly  help  envying  the  animal’s 
apparent  acquiescence  in  a  life  so  monotonous.  ‘  The  stupid 
brute,’  he  said,  ‘thinks  neither  of  the  race-ground  or  the 
hunting-field,  or  his  green  paddock  at  Bucklaw,  but  enjoys  him¬ 
self  as  comfortably  when  haltered  to  the  rack  in  this  ruinous 
vault,  as  if  he  had  been  foaled  in  it ;  and  I,  wTho  have  the 
freedom  of  a  prisoner  at  large,  to  range  through  the  dungeons 
of  this  wretched  old  tower,  can  hardly,  betwixt  whistling  and 
sleeping,  contrive  to  pass  away  the  hour  till  dinner-time.’ 

And  with  this  disconsolate  reflection,  he  wended  his  way  to 
the  bartizan  or  battlements  of  the  tower,  to  watch  what  objects 
might  appear  on  the  distant  moor,  or  to  pelt,  with  pebbles  and 
pieces  of  lime,  the  sea-mews  and  cormorants  which  established 
themselves  incautiously  within  the  reach  of  an  idle  young  man. 

Ravenswood,  with  a  mind  incalculably  deeper  and  more 
powerful  than  that  of  his  companion,  had  his  own  anxious 
subjects  of  reflection,  which  wrought  for  him  the  same  un¬ 
happiness  that  sheer  ennui  and  want  of  occupation  inflicted  on 
his  companion,  The  first  sight  of  Lucy  Ashton  had  been  less 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


79 


impressive  than  her  image  proved  to  be  upon  reflection.  As 
the  depth  and  violence  of  that  revengeful  passion  by  which  he 
had  been  actuated  in  seeking  an  interview  with  the  father 
began  to  abate  by  degrees,  he  looked  back  on  his  conduct 
towards  the  daughter  as  harsh  and  unworthy  towards  a  female 
of  rank  and  beauty.  Her  looks  of  grateful  acknowledgment, 
her  words  of  affectionate  courtesy,  had  been  repelled  with 
something  which  approached  to  disdain ;  and  if  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  had  sustained  wrongs  at  the  hand  of  Sir  William 
Ashton,  his  conscience  told  him  they  had  been  unhandsomely 
resented  towards  his  daughter.  When  his  thoughts  took  this 
turn  of  self-reproach,  the  recollection  of  Lucy  Ashton’s  beautiful 
features,  rendered  yet  more  interesting  by  the  circumstances 
in  which  their  meeting  had  taken  place,  made  an  impression 
upon  his  mind  at  once  soothing  and  painful.  The  sweetness 
of  her  voice,  the  delicacy  of  her  expressions,  the  vivid  glow  of 
her  filial  affection,  embittered  his  regret  at  having  repulsed 
her  gratitude  with  rudeness,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they 
placed  before  his  imagination  a  picture  of  the  most  seducing 
sweetness. 

Even  young  Ravenswood’s  strength  of  moral  feeling  and 
rectitude  of  purpose  at  once  increased  the  danger  of  cherish¬ 
ing  these  recollections,  and  the  propensity  to  entertain  them. 
Firmly  resolved  as  he  was  to  subdue,  if  possible,  the  predomi¬ 
nating  vice  in  his  character,  he  admitted  with  willingness  —  nay, 
he  summoned  up  in  his  imagination  —  the  ideas  by  which  it 
could  be  most  powerfully  counteracted ;  and,  while  he  did  so,  a 
sense  of  his  own  harsh  conduct  towards  the  daughter  of  his 
enemy  naturally  induced  him,  as  if  by  way  of  recompense,  to 
invest  her  with  more  of  grace  and  beauty  than  perhaps  she 
could  actually  claim. 

Had  any  one  at  this  period  told  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
that  he  had  so  lately  vowed  vengeance  against  the  whole  line¬ 
age  of  him  whom  he  considered,  not  unjustly,  as  author  of  his 
father’s  ruin  and  death,  he  might  at  first  have  repelled  the 
charge  as  a  foul  calumny ;  yet,  upon  serious  self-examination, 
he  would  have  been  compelled  to  admit  that  it  had,  at  one 
period,  some  foundation  in  truth,  though,  according  to  the 
present  tone  of  his  sentiments,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
this  had  really  been  the  case. 

There  already  existed  in  his  bosom  two  contradictory  passions 
—  a  desire  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  father,  strangely  qualified 
by  admiration  of  his  enemy’s  daughter.  Against  the  former 


80 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


feeling  lie  had  struggled,  until  it  seemed  to  him  upon  the  wane ; 
against  the  latter  he  used  no  means  of  resistance,  for  he  did  not 
suspect  its  existence.  That  this  was  actually  the  case  was 
chiefly  evinced  by  his  resuming  his  resolution  to  leave  Scotland. 
Yet,  though  such  was  his  purpose,  he  remained  day  after  day 
at  Wolfs  Crag,  without  taking  measures  for  carrying  it  into 
execution.  It  is  true,  that  he  had  written  to  one  or  two  kins¬ 
men  who  resided  in  a  distant  quarter  of  Scotland,  and  particu¬ 
larly  to  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  intimating  his  purpose;  and 

when  pressed  upon  the  subject  by  Bucklaw,  he  was  wont  to 
allege  the  necessity  of  waiting  for  their  reply,  especially  that 
of  the  Marquis,  before  taking  so  decisive  a  measure. 

The  Marquis  was  rich  and  powerful ;  and  although  he  was 
suspected  to  entertain  sentiments  unfavourable  to  the  govern¬ 
ment  established  at  the  Revolution,  he  had  nevertheless  address 
enough  to  head  a  party  in  the  Scottish  privy  council,  connected 
with  the  High  Church  faction  in  England,  and  powerful  enough 
to  menace  those  to  whom  the  Lord  Keeper  adhered  with  a 
probable  subversion  of  their  power.  The  consulting  with  a 
personage  of  such  importance  was  a  plausible  excuse,  wdiich 
Ravenswood  used  to  Bucklaw,  and  probably  to  himself,  for 
continuing  his  residence  at  Wolfs  Crag ;  and  it  was  rendered 
yet  more  so  by  a  general  report  which  began  to  be  current  of 
a  probable  change  of  ministers  and  measures  in  the  Scottish 
administration.  These  rumours,  strongly  asserted  by  some, 
and  as  resolutely  denied  by  others,  as  their  wishes  or  interest 
dictated,  found  their  wTay  even  to  the  ruinous  Tower  of  Wolfs 
Crag,  chiefly  through  the  medium  of  Caleb,  the  butler,  who, 
among  his  other  excellences,  was  an  ardent  politician,  and 
seldom  made  an  excursion  from  the  old  fortress  to  the  neigh¬ 
bouring  village  of  Wolfs  Hope  without  bringing  back  what 
tidings  were  current  in  the  vicinity. 

But  if  Bucklaw  could  not  offer  any  satisfactory  objections  to 
the  delay  of  the  Master  in  leaving  Scotland,  he  did  not  the  less 
suffer  with  impatience  the  state  of  inaction  to  which  it  confined 
him ;  and  it  was  only  the  ascendency  which  his  new  companion 
had  acquired  over  him  that  induced  him  to  submit  to  a  course 
of  life  so  alien  to  his  habits  and  inclinations. 

‘  You  were  wont  to  be  thought  a  stirring  active  young  fellow, 
Master,’  was  his  frequent  remonstrance;  ‘yet  here  you  seem 
determined  to  live  on  and  on  like  a  rat  in  a  hole,  with  this 
trifling  difference,  that  the  wiser  vermin  chooses  a  hermitage 
where  he  can  find  food  at  least ;  but  as  for  us,  Caleb’s  excuses 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


81 


become  longer  as  his  diet  turns  more  spare,  and  I  fear  we  shall 
realise  the  stories  they  tell  of  the  sloth  :  we  have  almost  eat 
up  the  last  green  leaf  on  the  plant,  and  have  nothing  left  for  it 
but  to  drop  from  the  tree  and  break  our  necks/ 

1  Do  not  fear  it/  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘  there  is  a  fate  watches 
for  us,  and  we  too  have  a  stake  in  the  revolution  that  is  now 
impending,  and  which  already  has  alarmed  many  a  bosom/ 

‘  What  fate  —  what  revolution  %  ’  inquired  his  companion.  ‘  We 
have  had  one  revolution  too  much  already,  I  think/ 

Ravenswood  interrupted  him  by  putting  into  his  hands  a 
letter. 

‘  0/  answered  Bucklaw,  ‘  my  dream  5s  out.  I  thought  I  heard 
Caleb  this  morning  pressing  some  unfortunate  fellow  to  a  drink 
of  cold  water,  and  assuring  him  it  was  better  for  his  stomach 
in  the  morning  than  ale  or  brandy/ 

‘  It  was  my  Lord  of  A - ’s  courier/  said  Ravenswood,  ‘  who 

was  doomed  to.  experience  his  ostentatious  hospitality,  which  I 
believe  ended  in  sour  beer  and  herrings.  Read,  and  you  will 
see  the  news  he  has  brought  us/ 

‘I  will  as  fast  as  I  can/  said  Bucklaw;  ‘but  I  am  no  great 
clerk,  nor  does  his  lordship  seem  to  be  the  first  of  scribes/ 

The  reader  will  peruse,  in  a  few  seconds,  by  the  aid  of  our 
friend  Ballantyne’s  types,  what  took  Bucklaw  a  good  half 
hour  in  perusal,  though  assisted  by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 
The  tenor  was  as  follows  :  — 

‘Right  Honourable  our  Cousin, 

‘  Our  hearty  commendations  premised,  these  come  to  assure 
you  of  the  interest  which  we  take  in  your  welfare,  and  in  your 
purposes  towards  its  augmentation.  If  we  have  been  less  active 
in  showing  forth  our  effective  good-will  towards  you  than,  as  a 
loving  kinsman  and  blood-relative,  we  would  willingly  have 
desired,  we  request  that  you  will  impute  it  to  lack  of  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  show  our  good-liking,  not  to  any  coldness  of  our  will. 
Touching  your  resolution  to  travel  in  foreign  parts,  as  at  this 
time  we  hold  the  same  little  advisable,  in  respect  that  your  ill- 
willers  may,  according  to  the  custom  of  such  persons,  impute 
motives  for  your  journey,  whereof,  although  we  know  and 
believe  you  to  be  as  clear  as  ourselves,  yet  natheless  their  words 
may  find  credence  in  places  where  the  belief  in  them  may  much 
prejudice  you,  and  which  we  should  see  with  more  unwillingness 
and  displeasure  than  with  means  of  remedy. 

‘  Having  thus,  as  becometh  our  kindred,  given  you  our  poor 
vol.  viii — 6 


82 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


mind  on  the  subject  of  your  journeying  forth  of  Scotland,  we 
would  willingly  add  reasons  of  weight,  which  might  materially 
advantage  you  and  your  father’s  house,  thereby  to  determine 
you  to  abide  at  Wolf’s  Crag,  until  this  harvest  season  shall  be 
passed  over.  But  what  sayeth  the  proverb,  verbum  sapienti  — 
a  word  is  more  to  him  that  hath  wisdom  than  a  sermon  to  a 
fool.  And  albeit  we  have  written  this  poor  scroll  with  our  own 
hand,  and  are  well  assured  of  the  fidelity  of  our  messenger,  as 
him  that  is  many  ways  bounden  to  us,  yet  so  it  is,  that  slid- 
dery  ways  crave  wary  walking,  and  that  we  may  not  peril  upon 
paper  matters  which  we  would  gladly  impart  to  you  by  word  of 
mouth.  Wherefore,  it  was  our  purpose  to  have  prayed  you 
heartily  to  come  to  this  barren  Highland  country  to  kill  a 
stag,  and  to  treat  of  the  matters  which  we  are  now  more  pain- . 
fully  inditing  to  you  anent.  But  commodity  does  not  serve  at 
present  for  such  our  meeting,  which,  therefore,  shall  be  deferred 
until  sic  time  as  we  may  in  all  mirth  rehearse  those  things 
whereof  we  now  keep  silence.  Meantime,  we  pray  you  to  think 
that  we  are,  and  will  still  be,  your  good  kinsman  and  well- 
wisher,  waiting  but  for  times  of  whilk  we  do,  as  it  were,  enter¬ 
tain  a  twilight  prospect,  and  appear  and  hope  to  be  also  your 
effectual  well-doer.  And  in  which  hope  we  heartily  write 
ourself, 

‘  Right  Honourable, 

‘  Your  loving  cousin, 

‘A - . 

‘  Given  from  our  poor  house  of  B - ,’  etc. 

Superscribed  —  ‘  For  the  right  honourable,  and  our  honoured 
kinsman,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  —  These,  with  haste,  haste, 
post  haste  —  ride  and  run  until  these  be  delivered.’ 

‘  What  think  you  of  this  epistle,  Bucklaw  ?  ’  said  the  Master, 
when  his  companion  had  hammered  out  all  the  sense,  and 
almost  all  the  words  of  which  it  consisted. 

‘  Truly,  that  the  Marquis’s  meaning  is  as  great  a  riddle  as 
his  manuscript.  He  is  really  in  much  need  of  Wit’s  Interpreter, 
or  the  Complete  Letter-  Writer,  and  were  I  you,  I  would  send 
him  a  copy  by  the  bearer.  He  writes  you  very  kindly  to  re¬ 
main  wasting  your  time  and  your  money  in  this  vile,  stupid, 
oppressed  country,  without  so  much  as  offering  you  the  coun¬ 
tenance  and  shelter  of  his  house.  In  my  opinion,  he  has  some 
scheme  in  view  in  which  he  supposes  you  can  he  useful,  and  he 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


83 


wishes  to  keep  you  at  hand,  to  make  use  of  you  when  it  ripens, 
reserving  the  power  of  turning  you  adrift,  should  his  plot  fail 
in  the  concoction. 7 

‘  His  plot !  Then  you  suppose  it  is  a  treasonable  business,’ 
answered  Ravenswood. 

‘  What  else  can  it  be  1  ’  replied  Bucklaw  ;  ‘  the  Marquis  has 
been  long  suspected  to  have  an  eye  to  Saint  Germains.’ 

‘  He  should  not  engage  me  rashly  in  such  an  adventure,’  said 
Ravenswood ;  ‘  when  I  recollect  the  times  of  the  first  and 
second  Charles,  and  of  the  last  James,  truly  I  see  little  reason 
that,  as  a  man  or  a  patriot,  I  should  draw  my  sword  for  their 
descendants.’ 

‘  Humph  !  ’  replied  Bucklaw  ;  ‘  so  you  have  set  yourself  down 
to  mourn  over  the  crop-eared  dogs  whom  honest  Claver’se  treated 
as  they  deserved  %  ’ 

‘  They  first  gave  the  dogs  an  ill  name,  and  then  hanged  them,’ 
replied  Ravenswood.  £  I  hope  to  see  the  day  when  justice  shall 
be  open  to  Whig  and  Tory,  and  when  these  nicknames  shall  only 
be  used  among  coffee-house  politicians,  as  ££  slut  ”  and  ££  jade  ”  are 
among  apple- women,  as  cant  terms  of  idle  spite  and  rancour.’ 

‘That  will  not  be  in  our  days,  Master:  the  iron  has  entered 
too  deeply  into  our  sides  and  our  souls.’ 

£  It  will  be,  however,  one  day,’  replied  the  Master ;  £  men  will 
not  always  start  at  these  nicknames  as  at  a  trumpet-sound. 
As  social  life  is  better  protected,  its  comforts  will  become  too 
dear  to  be  hazarded  without  some  better  reason  than  speculative 
politics.’ 

£  It  is  fine  talking,’  answered  Bucklaw  •  £  but  my  heart  is  with 
the  old  song  — 

To  see  good  corn  upon  the  rigs, 

And  a  gallows  built  to  hang  the  Whigs, 

And  the  right  restored  where  the  right  should  be, 

0,  that  is  the  thing  that  would  wanton  me.’ 

‘You  may  sing  as  loudly  as  you  will,  cantabit  vacuus - ,’ 

answered  the  Master ;  ‘  but  I  believe  the  Marquis  is  too  wise, 
at  least  too  wary,  to  join  you  in  such  a  burden.  I  suspect 
he  alludes  to  a  revolution  in  the  Scottish  privy  council,  rather 
than  in  the  British  kingdoms.’ 

‘  0,  confusion  to  your  state  tricks !  ’  exclaimed  Bucklaw  — 
‘  your  cold  calculating  manoeuvres,  which  old  gentlemen  in 
wrought  nightcaps  and  furred  gowns  execute  like  so  many 
games  at  chess,  and  displace  a  treasurer  or  lord  commissioner 


84 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


as  they  would  take  a  rook  or  a  pawn.  Tennis  for  my  sport, 
and  battle  for  my  earnest !  My  racket  and  my  sword  for  my 
plaything  and  bread-winner !  And  you,  Master,  so  deep  and 
considerate  as  you  wrould  seem,  you  have  that  within  you 
makes  the  blood  boil  faster  than  suits  your  present  humour 
of  moralising  on  political  truths.  You  are  one  of  those  wise 
men  who  see  everything  with  great  composure  till  their  blood 
is  up,  and  then  —  woe  to  any  one  who  should  put  them  in  mind 
of  their  own  prudential  maxims  !  ’ 

‘  Perhaps,’  said  Ravens  wood,  ‘  you  read  me  more  rightly  than 
I  can  myself.  But  to  think  justly  will  certainly  go  some  length 
in  helping  me  to  act  so.  But  hark !  I  hear  Caleb  tolling  the 
dinner-bell.’ 

‘Which  he  always  does  with  the  more  sonorous  grace  in 
proportion  to  the  meagreness  of  the  cheer  which  he  has 
provided,’  said  Bucklaw ;  ‘  as  if  that  infernal  clang  and  jangle, 
which  will  one  day  bring  the  belfry  down  the  cliff,  could  convert 
a  starved  hen  into  a  fat  capon,  and  a  blade-bone  of  mutton  into 
a  haunch  of  venison.’ 

‘  I  wish  we  may  he  so  well  off  as  your  worst  conjectures  sur¬ 
mise,  Bucklaw,  from  the  extreme  solemnity  and  ceremony  with 
which  Caleb  seems  to  place  on  the  table  that  solitary  covered 
dish.’ 

‘  Uncover,  Caleb  !  uncover,  for  Heaven’s  sake  !  ’  said  Buck- 
law  ;  ‘  let  us  have  what  you  can  give  us  without  preface.  Why, 
it  stands  well  enough,  man,’  he  continued,  addressing  im¬ 
patiently  the  ancient  butler,  who,  without  reply,  kept  shifting 
the  dish,  until  he  at  length  placed  it  with  mathematical 
precision  in  the  very  midst  of  the  table. 

‘  What  have  we  got  here,  Caleb  ?  ’  inquired  the  Master  in  his 
turn. 

‘  Ahem  !  sir,  ye  suld  have  known  before  ;  but  his  honour  the 
Laird  of  Bucklaw  is  so  impatient,’  answered  Caleb,  still  holding 
the  dish  with  one  hand  and  the  cover  with  the  other,  with 
evident  reluctance  to  disclose  the  contents. 

‘  But  what  is  it,  a  God’s  name  —  not  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  I 
hope,  in  the  Border  fashion  of  old  times  'l  ’ 

‘  Ahem  !  ahem  !  ’  reiterated  Caleb,  ‘  your  honour  is  pleased 
to  be  facetious ;  natheless,  I  might  presume  to  say  it  was  a 
convenient  fashion,  and  used,  as  I  have  heard,  in  an  honour¬ 
able  and  thriving  family.  But  touching  your  present  dinner, 
I  judged  that  this  being  St.  Magdalen’s  Eve,  who  was  a 
worthy  queen  of  Scotland  in  her  day,  your  honours  might  judge 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


85 


it  decorous,  if  not  altogether  to  fast,  yet  only  to  sustain  nature 
with  some  slight  refection,  as  ane  saulted  herring  or  the  like/ 
And,  uncovering  the  dish,  he  displayed  four  of  the  savoury 
fishes  which  he  mentioned,  adding,  in  a  subdued  tone,  ‘that 
they  were  no  just  common  herring  neither,  being  every  ane 
melters,  and  sauted  with  uncommon  care  by  the  housekeeper 
(poor  Mysie)  for  his  honour’s  especial  use.’ 

‘  Out  upon  all  apologies  !  ’  said  the  Master,  ‘  let  us  eat  the 
herrings,  since  there  is  nothing  better  to  be  had  ;  hut  I  begin 
to  think  with  you,  Bucklaw,  that  we  are  consuming  the  last 
green  leaf,  and  that,  in  spite  of  the  Marquis’s  political  machina¬ 
tions,  we  must  positively  shift  camp  for  want  of  forage,  without 
waiting  the  issue  of  them/ 


CHAPTER  IX 


Ay,  and  when  huntsmen  wind  the  merry  horn, 

And  from  its  covert  starts  the  fearful  prey, 

Who,  warm’d  with  youth’s  blood  in  his  swelling  veins, 
Would,  like  a  lifeless  clod,  outstretched  lie, 

Shut  out  from  all  the  fair  creation  offers  ? 

Ethwald,  Act  I.  Scene  I. 


1IGHT  meals  procure  light  slumbers ;  and  therefore  it  is 
not  surprising  that,  considering  the  fare  which  Caleb’s 
conscience,  or  his  necessity,  assuming,  as  will  sometimes 
happen,  that  disguise,  had  assigned  to  the  guests  of  Wolfs  Crag, 
their  slumbers  should  have  been  short. 

In  the  morning  Bucklaw  rushed  into  his  host’s  apartment 
with  a  loud  halloo,  which  might  have  awaked  the  dead. 

‘  Up  !  up  !  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !  The  hunters  are  out, 
the  only  piece  of  sport  I  have  seen  this  month  ;  and  you  lie 
here,  Master,  on  a  bed  that  has  little  to  recommend  it,  except 
that  it  may  be  something  softer  than  the  stone  floor  of  your 
ancestor’s  vault.’ 

‘I  wish,’  said  Ravenswood,  raising  his  head  peevishly,  ‘ you 
had  forborne  so  early  a  jest,  Mr.  Hayston ;  it  is  really  no 
pleasure  to  lose  the  very  short  repose  wdiich  I  had  just  begun 
to  enjoy,  after  a  night  spent  in  thoughts  upon  fortune  far 
harder  than  my  couch,  Bucklaw.’ 

‘  Pshaw,  pshaw  !  ’  replied  his  guest ;  ‘  get  up  —  get  up  ;  the 
hounds  are  abroad.  1  have  saddled  the  horses  myself,  for  old 
Caleb  was  calling  for  grooms  and  lackeys,  and  would  never 
have  proceeded  without  two  hours’  apology  for  the  absence  of 
men  that  were  a  hundred  miles  off.  Get  up,  Master;  I  say 
the  hounds  are  out  —  get  up,  I  say  ;  the  hunt  is  up.’  And  off 
ran  Bucklaw. 

‘And  I  say,’  said  the  Master,  rising  slowdy,  ‘that  nothing 
can  concern  me  less.  Whose  hounds  come  so  near  to  us  ?  ’ 

‘  The  Honourable  Lord  Bittlebrains’,’  answered  Caleb,  who 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


87 


had  followed  the  impatient  Laird  of  Bucklaw  into  his  master’s 
bedroom,  ‘  and  truly  I  ken  nae  title  they  have  to  be  yowling 
and  howling  within  the  freedoms  and  immunities  of  your  lord¬ 
ship’s  right  of  free  forestry.’ 

‘Nor  I,  Caleb,’  replied  Ravenswood,  ‘excepting  that  they 
have  bought  both  the  lands  and  the  right  of  forestry,  and  may 
think  themselves  entitled  to  exercise  the  rights  they  have  paid 
their  money  for.’ 

‘  It  may  be  sae,  my  lord,’  replied  Caleb  ;  ‘  but  it ’s  no  gentle¬ 
man’s  deed  of  them  to  come  here  and  exercise  such-like  right, 
and  your  lordship  living  at  your  ain  castle  of  Wolfs  Crag. 
Lord  Bittlebrains  would  do  weel  to  remember  what  his  folk 
have  been.’ 

‘  And  we  what  we  now  are,  ’  said  the  Master,  with  suppressed 
bitterness  of  feeling.  ‘  But  reach  me  my  cloak,  Caleb,  and  I 
will  indulge  Bucklaw  with  a  sight  of  this  chase.  It  is  selfish 
to  sacrifice  my  guest’s  pleasure  to  my  own.’ 

‘  Sacrifice  !  ’  echoed  Caleb,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  imply 
the  total  absurdity  of  his  master  making  the  least  concession 
in  deference  to  any  one  —  ‘  sacrifice,  indeed  !  —  but  I  crave  your 
honour’s  pardon,  and  whilk  doublet  is  it  your  pleasure  to 
wear  ?  ’ 

‘Any  one  you  will,  Caleb;  my  wardrobe,  I  suppose,  is  not 
very  extensive.’ 

‘Not  extensive!’  echoed  his  assistant;  ‘when  there  is  the 
grey  and  silver  that  your  lordship  bestowed  on  Hew  Hilde¬ 
brand,  your  outrider ;  and  the  French  velvet  that  went  with 
my  lord  your  father  —  be  gracious  to  him  !  —  my  lord  your 
father’s  auld  wardrobe  to  the  puir  friends  of  the  family ;  and 
the  drap-de- Berry ’ 

‘  Which  I  gave  to  you,  Caleb,  and  which,  I  suppose,  is  the 
only  dress  we  have  any  chance  to  come  at,  except  that  I  wrore 
yesterday  ;  pray,  hand  me  that,  and  say  no  more  about  it.’ 

‘  If  your  honour  has  a  fancy,’  replied  Caleb,  ‘  and  doubtless  it ’s 
a  sad-coloured  suit,  and  you  are  in  mourning ;  nevertheless,  I  have 
never  tried  on  the  drap-de-Berry  —  ill  wad  it  became  me  —  and 
your  honour  having  no  change  of  claiths  at  this  present  —  and 
it ’s  weel  brushed,  and  as  there  are  leddies  down  yonder - ’ 

‘  Ladies  !  ’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘  and  what  ladies,  pray  ?  ’ 

‘What  do  I  ken,  your  lordship  ?  Looking  down  at  them 
from  the  Warden’s  Tower,  I  could  but  see  them  glent  by  wi’ 
their  bridles  ringing  and  their  feathers  fluttering,  like  the  court 
of  Elfland.’ 


88 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Well,  well,  Caleb,’  replied  the  Master,  ‘help  me  on  with 
my  cloak,  and  hand  me  my  sword-belt.  What  clatter  is  that 
in  the  courtyard  ? 5 

‘Just  Bucklaw  bringing  out  the  horses,’  said  Caleb,  after  a 
glance  through  the  window,  ‘  as  if  there  werena  men  eneugh  in 
the  castle,  or  as  if  I  couldna  serve  the  turn  o’  ony  o’  them  that 
are  out  o’  the  gate.’ 

‘  Alas  !  Caleb,  we  should  want  little  if  your  ability  were 
equal  to  your  will,’  replied  his  master. 

‘And  I  hope  your  lordship  disna  want  that  muckle,’  said 
Caleb ;  ‘  for,  considering  a’  things,  I  trust  we  support  the 
credit  of  the  family  as  weel  as  things  will  permit  of,  —  only 
Bucklaw  is  aye  sae  frank  and  sae  forward.  And  there  he  has 
brought  out  your  lordship’s  palfrey,  without  the  saddle  being 
decored  wi’  the  broidered  sumpter-cloth !  and  I  could  have 
brushed  it  in  a  minute.’ 

‘It  is  all  very  well,’  said  his  master,  escaping  from  him  and 
descending  the  narrow  and  steep  winding  staircase  which  led 
to  the  courtyard. 

‘It  may  be  a’  very  weel,’  said  Caleb,  somewhat  peevishly; 
‘  but  if  your  lordship  wad  tarry  a  bit,  I  will  tell  you  what  will 
not  be  very  week’ 

‘  And  what  is  that  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood,  impatiently,  but 
stopping  at  the  same  time. 

‘  Why,  just  that  ye  suld  speer  ony  gentleman  hame  to 
dinner  ;  for  I  canna  mak  anither  fast  on  a  feast  day,  as  when 
I  cam  ower  Bucklaw  wi’  Queen  Margaret ;  and,  to  speak  truth, 
if  your  lordship  wad  but  please  to  cast  yoursell  in  the  way  of 
dining  wi’  Lord  Bittlebrains,  I’se  warrand  I  wad  cast  about 
brawly  for  the  morn ;  or  if,  stead  o’  that,  ye  wad  but  dine 
wi’  them  at  the  change-house,  ye  might  mak  your  shift  for 
the  lawing  :  ye  might  say  ye  had  forgot  your  purse,  or  that 
the  carline  awed  ye  rent,  and  that  ye  wad  allow  it  in  the 
settlement.’ 

‘  Or  any  other  lie  that  came  uppermost,  I  suppose  1  ’  said 
his  master.  ‘  Good-bye,  Caleb ;  I  commend  your  care  for  the 
honour  of  the  family.’  And,  throwing  himself  on  his  horse,  he 
followed  Bucklaw,  who,  at  the  manifest  risk  of  his  neck,  had 
begun  to  gallop  down  the  steep  path  which  led  from  the 
Tower  as  soon  as  he  saw  Ravenswood  have  his  foot  in  the 
stirrup. 

Caleb  Balderstone  looked  anxiously  after  them,  and  shook 
his  thin  grey  locks  —  ‘And  I  trust  they  will  come  to  no  evil ; 


The  Master  of  Ravenswood 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  89 

but  they  have  reached  the  plain,  and  folk  cannot  say  but  that 
the  horse  are  hearty  and  in  spirits.’ 

Animated  by  the  natural  impetuosity  and  fire  of  his  temper, 
young  Bucklaw  rushed  on  with  the  careless  speed  of  a  whirl¬ 
wind.  Bavenswood  was  scarce  more  moderate  in  his  pace,  for 
his  was  a  mind  unwillingly  roused  from  contemplative  inactiv¬ 
ity,  but  which,  when  once  put  into  motion,  acquired  a  spirit  of 
forcible  and  violent  progression.  Neither  was  his  eagerness 
proportioned  in  all  cases  to  the  motive  of  impulse,  but  might 
be  compared  to  the  speed  of  a  stone,  which  rushes  with  like 
fury  down  the  hill  whether  it  was  first  put  in  motion  by  the 
arm  of  a  giant  or  the  hand  of  a  boy.  He  felt,  therefore,  in  no 
ordinary  degree,  the  headlong  impulse  of  the  chase,  a  pastime 
so  natural  to  youth  of  all  ranks,  that  it  seems  rather  to  be  an 
inherent  passion  in  our  animal  nature,  which  levels  all  differ¬ 
ences  of  rank  and  education,  than  an  acquired  habit  of  rapid 
exercise. 

The  repeated  bursts  of  the  French  horn,  which  was  then  al¬ 
ways  used  for  the  encouragement  and  direction  of  the  hounds ; 
the  deep,  though  distant  baying  of  the  pack ;  the  half-heard 
cries  of  the  huntsmen ;  the  half-seen  forms  which  were  dis¬ 
covered,  now  emerging  from  glens  which  crossed  the  moor,  now 
sweeping  over  its  surface,  now  picking  their  way  where  it  was 
impeded  by  morasses ;  and,  above  all,  the  feeling  of  his  own 
rapid  motion,  animated  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  at  least  for 
the  moment,  above  the  recollections  of  a  more  painful  nature 
by  which  he  was  surrounded.  The  first  thing  which  recalled 
him  to  those  unpleasing  circumstances  was  feeling  that  his 
horse,  notwithstanding  all  the  advantages  which  he  received 
from  his  rider’s  knowledge  of  the  country,  was  unable  to  keep 
up  with  the  chase.  As  he  drew  his  bridle  up  with  the  bitter 
feeling  that  his  poverty  excluded  him  from  the  favourite 
recreation  of  his  forefathers,  and  indeed  their  sole  employment 
when  not  engaged  in  military  pursuits,  he  was  accosted  by  a 
well-mounted  stranger,  who,  unobserved,  had  kept  near  him 
during  the  earlier  part  of  his  career. 

‘Your  horse  is  blown,’  said  the  man,  with  a  complaisance 
seldom  used  in  a  hunting-field.  ‘  Might  I  crave  your  honour 
to  make  use  of  mine  ?  ’ 

‘  Sir,’  said  Ravenswood,  more  surprised  than  pleased  at  such 
a  proposal,  ‘I  really  do  not  know  how  I  have  merited  such  a 
favour  at  a  stranger’s  hands.’ 

‘Never  ask  a  question  about  it,  Master,’  said  Bucklaw,  who, 


90 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


with  great  unwillingness,  had  hitherto  reined  in  his  own  gallant 
steed,  not  to  outride  his  host  and  entertainer.  ‘  Take  the  goods 
the  gods  provide  you,  as  the  great  John  Dryden  says ;  or  stay 
—  here,  my  friend,  lend  me  that  horse ;  I  see  you  have  been 
puzzled  to  rein  him  up  this  half-hour.  I’ll  take  the  devil  out 
of  him  for  you.  Now,  Master,  do  you  ride  mine,  which  will 
carry  you  like  an  eagle.’ 

And  throwing  the  rein  of  his  own  horse  to  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  he  sprung  upon  that  which  the  stranger  resigned 
to  him,  and  continued  his  career  at  full  speed. 

‘Was  ever  so  thoughtless  a  being!’  said  the  Master;  ‘and 
you,  my  friend,  how  could  you  trust  him  with  your  horse  ?  ’ 

‘The  horse,’  said  the  man,  ‘belongs  to  a  person  who  will 
make  your  honour,  or  any  of  your  honourable  friends,  most 
welcome  to  him,  flesh  and  fell.’ 

‘  And  the  owner’s  name  is - ?  ’  asked  Ravenswood. 

‘Your  honour  must  excuse  me,  you  will  learn  that  from 
himself.  If  you  please  to  take  your  friend’s  horse,  and  leave 
me  your  galloway,  I  will  meet  you  after  the  fall  of  the  stag, 
for  I  hear  they  are  blowing  him  at  bay.’ 

‘  I  believe,  my  friend,  it  will  be  the  best  way  to  recover  your 
good  horse  for  you,’  answered  Ravenswood ;  and  mounting  the 
nag  of  his  friend  Bucklaw,  he  made  all  the  haste  in  his  power 
to  the  spot  where  the  blast  of  the  horn  announced  that  the 
stag’s  career  was  nearly  terminated. 

These  jovial  sounds  were  intermixed  with  the  huntsmen’s 
shouts  of  ‘  Hyke  a  Talbot !  Hyke  a  Teviot !  now,  boys,  now  !  ’ 
and  similar  cheering  halloos  of  the  olden  hunting-field,  to  which 
the  impatient  yelling  of  the  hounds,  now  close  on  the  object  of 
their  pursuit,  gave  a  lively  and  unremitting  chorus.  The  strag¬ 
gling  riders  began  now  to  rally  towards  the  scene  of  action, 
collecting  from  different  points  as  to  a  common  centre. 

Bucklaw  kept  the  start  which  he  had  gotten,  and  arrived 
first  at  the  spot,  where  the  stag,  incapable  of  sustaining  a 
more  prolonged  flight,  had  turned  upon  the  hounds,  and,  in  the 
hunter’s  phrase,  was  at  bay.  With  his  stately  head  bent  down, 
his  sides  white  with  foam,  his  eyes  strained  betwixt  rage  and 
terror,  the  hunted  animal  had  now  in  his  turn  become  an 
object  of  intimidation  to  his  pursuers.  The  hunters  came  up 
one  by  one,  and  watched  an  opportunity  to  assail  him  with 
some  advantage,  which,  in  such  circumstances,  can  only  be 
done  with  caution.  The  dogs  stood  aloof  and  bayed  loudly, 
intimating  at  once  eagerness  and  fear,  and  each  of  the  sports- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


91 


men  seemed  to  expect  that  his  comrade  would  take  upon  him 
the  perilous  task  of  assaulting  and  disabling  the  animal.  The 
ground,  which  was  a  hollow  in  the  common  or  moor,  afforded 
little  advantage  for  approaching  the  stag  unobserved  ;  and  gen¬ 
eral  was  the  shout  of  triumph  when  Bucklaw,  with  the  dex¬ 
terity  proper  to  an  accomplished  cavalier  of  the  day,  sprang 
from  his  horse,  and  dashing  suddenly  and  swiftly  at  the  stag, 
brought  him  to  the  ground  by  a  cut  on  the  hind  leg  with  his 
short  hunting-sword.  The  pack,  rushing  in  upon  their  disabled 
enemy,  soon  ended  his  painful  struggles,  and  solemnised  his 
fall  with  their  clamour  ;  the  hunters,  with  their  horns  and 
voices,  whooping  and  blowing  a  mort,  or  death-note,  which 
resounded  far  over  the  billows  of  the  adjacent  ocean. 

The  huntsman  then  withdrew  the  hounds  from  the  throttled 
stag,  and  on  his  knee  presented  his  knife  to  a  fair  female  form, 
on  a  white  palfrey,  whose  terror,  or  perhaps  her  compassion, 
had  till  then  kept  her  at  some  distance.  She  wore  a  black  silk 
riding-mask,  which  was  then  a  common  fashion,  as  well  for 
preserving  the  complexion  from  sun  and  rain,  as  from  an  idea 
of  decorum,  which  did  not  permit  a  lady  to  appear  barefaced 
while  engaged  in  a  boisterous  sport,  and  attended  by  a  promis¬ 
cuous  company.  The  richness  of  her  dress,  however,  as  well 
as  the  mettle  and  form  of  her  palfrey,  together  with  the  silvan 
compliment  paid  to  her  by  the  huntsman,  pointed  her  out  to 
Bucklaw  as  the  principal  person  in  the  field.  It  was  not  with¬ 
out  a  feeling  of  pity,  approaching  even  to  contempt,  that  this 
enthusiastic  hunter  observed  her  refuse  the  huntsman’s  knife, 
presented  to  her  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  first  incision  in 
the  stag’s  breast,  and  thereby  discovering  the  quality  of  the 
venison.  He  felt  more  than  half  inclined  to  pay  his  compli¬ 
ments  to  her ;  but  it  had  been  Bucklaw’s  misfortune,  that  his 
habits  of  life  had  not  rendered  him  familiarly  acquainted  with 
the  higher  and  better  classes  of  female  society,  so  that,  with 
all  his  natural  audacity,  he  felt  sheepish  and  bashful  when  it 
became  necessary  to  address  a  lady  of  distinction. 

Taking  unto  himself  heart  of  grace  (to  use  his  own  phrase), 
he  did  at  length  summon  up  resolution  enough  to  give  the  fare 
huntress  good  time  of  the  day,  and  trust  that  her  sport  had 
answered  her  expectation.  Her  answer  was  very  courteously 
and  modestly  expressed,  and  testified  some  gratitude  to  the 
gallant  cavalier,  whose  exploit  had  terminated  the  chase  so 
adroitly,  when  the  hounds  and  huntsmen  seemed  somewhat  at 
a  stand. 


92 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Uds  daggers  and  scabbard,  madam/  said  Bucklaw,  whom 
this  observation  brought  at  once  upon  his  own  ground,  ‘there 
is  no  difficulty  or  merit  in  that  matter  at  all,  so  that  a  fellow 
is  not  too  much  afraid  of  having  a  pair  of  antlers  in  his .  guts. 
1  have  hunted  at  force  five  hundred  times,  madam ;  and  I 
never  yet  saw  the  stag  at  bay,  by  land  or  water,  but  I  durst 
have  gone  roundly  in  on  him.  It  is  all  use  and  wont,  madam ; 
and  I  ’ll  tell  you,  madam,  for  all  that,  it  must  be  done  with  good 
heed  and  caution  ;  and  you  will  do  well,  madam,  to  have  your 
hunting-sword  both  right  sharp  and  double-edged,  that  you 
may  strike  either  fore-handed  or  back-handed,  as  you  see  reason, 
for  a  hurt  with  a  buck’s  horn  is  a  perilous  and  somewhat  venom¬ 
ous  matter.’ 

‘  I  am  afraid,  sir,’  said  the  young  lady,  and  her  smile  was 
scarce  concealed  by  her  vizard,  ‘I  shall  have  little  use  for  such 
careful  preparation.’ 

‘But  the  gentleman  says  very  right  for  all  that,  my  lady,’ 
said  an  old  huntsman,  who  had  listened  to  Bucklaw’s  harangue 
with  no  small  edification ;  ‘  and  I  have  heard  my  father  say, 
who  was  a  forester  at  the  Cabrach,  that  a  wild  boar’s  gaunch 
is  more  easily  healed  than  a  hurt  from  the  deer’s  horn,  for  so 
says  the  old  woodman’s  rhyme  — 

If  thou  be  hurt  with  horn  of  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier ; 

But  tusk  of  boar  shall  leeches  heal,  thereof  have  lesser  fear/ 

‘An  I  might  advise,’  continued  Bucklaw,  who  was  now  in 
his  element,  and  desirous  of  assuming  the  whole  management, 
‘  as  the  hounds  are  surbated  and  weary,  the  head  of  the  stag 
should  be  cabbaged  in  order  to  reward  them ;  and  if  I  may  pre¬ 
sume  to  speak,  the  huntsman,  who  is  to  break  up  the  stag,  ought 
to  drink  to  your  good  ladyship’s  health  a  good  lusty  bicker 
of  ale,  or  a  tass  of  brandy ;  for  if  he  breaks  him  up  without 
drinking,  the  venison  will  not  keep  well.’ 

This  very  agreeable  prescription  received,  as  will  be  readily 
believed,  all  acceptation  from  the  huntsman,  who,  in  requital, 
offered  to  Bucklaw  the  compliment  of  his  knife,  which  the 
young  lady  had  declined. 

This  polite  proffer  was  seconded  by  his  mistress.  ‘  I  believe, 
sir,’  she  said,  withdrawing  herself  from  the  circle,  ‘that  my 
father,  for  whose  amusement  Lord  Bittlebrains’  hounds  have 
been  out  to-day,  will  readily  surrender  all  care  of  these  matters 
to  a  gentleman  of  your  experience.’ 

Then,  bending  gracefully  from  her  horse,  she  wished  him 


Miss  Ashton  refuses  the  huntsman’s  knife 


1  jja  H 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


93 


good  morning,  and,  attended  by  one  or  two  domestics,  who 
seemed  immediately  attached  to  her  service,  retired  from  the 
scene  of  action,  to  which  Bucklaw,  too  much  delighted  with  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  his  woodcraft  to  care  about  man  or 
woman  either,  paid  little  attention ;  but  was  soon  stript  to  his 
doublet,  with  tucked- up  sleeves,  and  naked  arms  up  to  the 
elbows  in  blood  and  grease,  slashing,  cutting,  hacking,  and  hew¬ 
ing,  with  the  precision  of  Sir  Tristrem  himself,  and  wrangling 
and  disputing  with  all  around  him  concerning  nombles,  briskets, 
flankards,  and  raven-bones,  then  usual  terms  of  the  art  of  hunt¬ 
ing,  or  of  butchery,  whichever  the  reader  chooses  to  call  it, 
which  are  now  probably  antiquated. 

When  Ravenswood,  who  followed  a  short  space  behind  his 
friend,  saw  that  the  stag  had  fallen,  his  temporary  ardour  for 
the  chase  gave  way  to  that  feeling  of  reluctance  which  he 
endured  at  encountering  in  his  fallen  fortunes  the  gaze  whether 
of  equals  or  inferiors.  He  reined  up  his  horse  on  the  top  of  a 
gentle  eminence,  from  which  he  observed  the  busy  and  gay 
scene  beneath  him,  and  heard  the  whoops  of  the  huntsmen, 
gaily  mingled  with  the  cry  of  the  dogs,  and  the  neighing  and 
trampling  of  the  horses.  But  these  jovial  sounds  fell  sadly  on 
the  ear  of  the  ruined  nobleman.  The  chase,  with  all  its  train 
of  excitations,  has  ever  since  feudal  times  been  accounted  the 
almost  exclusive  privilege  of  the  aristocracy,  and  was  anciently 
their  chief  employment  in  times  of  peace.  The  sense  that  he 
was  excluded  by  his  situation  from  enjoying  the  silvan  sport, 
which  his  rank  assigned  to  him  as  a  special  prerogative,  and 
the  feeling  that  new  men  were  now  exercising  it  over  the  downs 
which  had  been  jealously  reserved  by  his  ancestors  for  their 
own  amusement,  while  he,  the  heir  of  the  domain,  was  fain  to 
hold  himself  at  a  distance  from  their  party,  awakened  reflections 
calculated  to  depress  deeply  a  mind  like  Ravensw^ood’s,  which 
was  naturally  contemplative  and  melancholy.  His  pride,  how¬ 
ever,  soon  shook  off  this  feeling  of  dejection,  and  it  gave  way  to 
impatience  upon  finding  that  his  volatile  friend  Bucklaw  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  return  with  his  borrowed  steed,  which  Ravens¬ 
wood,  before  leaving  the  field,  wished  to  see  restored  to  the 
obliging  owner.  As  he  was  about  to  move  towards  the  group 
of  assembled  huntsmen,  he  was  joined  by  a  horseman,  who,  like 
himself,  had  kept  aloof  during  the  fall  of  the  deer. 

This  personage  seemed  stricken  in  years.  He  wore  a  scarlet 
cloak,  buttoning  high  upon  his  face,  and  his  hat  was  unlooped 
and  slouched,  probably  by  way  of  defence  against  the  weather. 


94 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


His  horse,  a  strong  and  steady  palfrey,  was  calculated  for  a 
rider  who  proposed  to  witness  the  sport  of  the  day  rather  than 
to  share  it.  An  attendant  waited  at  some  distance,  and  the 
whole  equipment  was  that  of  an  elderly  gentleman  of  rank  and 
fashion.  He  accosted  Ravenswood  very  politely,  hut  not  with¬ 
out  some  embarrassment. 

‘You  seem  a  gallant  young  gentleman,  sir,’  he  said,  ‘and 
yet  appear  as  indifferent  to  this  brave  sport  as  if  you  had  my 
load  of  years  on  your  shoulders.’ 

‘  I  have  followed  the  sport  with  more  spirit  on  other  occa¬ 
sions,’  replied  the  Master ;  ‘  at  present,  late  events  in  my  family 
must  be  my  apology ;  and  besides,’  he  added,  ‘  I  was  but  indif¬ 
ferently  mounted  at  the  beginning  of  the  sport.’ 

‘I  think,’  said  the  stranger,  ‘one  of  my  attendants  had  the 
sense  to  accommodate  your  friend  with  a  horse.’ 

‘  I  was  much  indebted  to  his  politeness  and  yours,’  replied 
Ravenswood.  ‘  My  friend  is  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  whom  I 
daresay  you  will  be  sure  to  find  in  the  thick  of  the  keenest 
sportsmen.  He  will  return  your  servant’s  horse,  and  take  my 
pony  in  exchange;  and  will  add,’  he  concluded,  turning  his 
horse’s  head  from  the  stranger,  ‘his  best  acknowledgments  to 
mine  for  the  accommodation.’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood,  having  thus  expressed  himself, 
began  to  move  homeward,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  has 
taken  leave  of  his  company.  But  the  stranger  was  not  so  to 
be  shaken  off.  He  turned  his  horse  at  the  same  time,  and  rode 
in  the  same  direction,  so  near  to  the  Master  that,  without  out¬ 
riding  him,  which  the  formal  civility  of  the  time,  and  the  re¬ 
spect  due  to  the  stranger’s  age  and  recent  civility,  would  have 
rendered  improper,  he  could  not  easily  escape  from  his  company. 

The  stranger  did  not  long  remain  silent.  ‘  This,  then,’  he 
said,  ‘is  the  ancient  Castle  of  Wolf’s  Crag,  often  mentioned  in 
the  Scottish  records,’  looking  to  the  old  tower,  then  darkening 
under  the  influence  of  a  stormy  cloud,  that  formed  its  back¬ 
ground  ;  for  at  the  distance  of  a  short  mile,  the  chase,  having 
been  circuitous,  had  brought  the  hunters  nearly  back  to  the 
point  which  they  had  attained  when  Ravenswood  and  Bucklaw 
had  set  forward  to  join  them. 

Ravenswood  answered  this  observation  with  a  cold  and  dis¬ 
tant  assent. 

‘It  was,  as  I  have  heard,’  continued  the  stranger,  unabashed 
by  his  coldness,  ‘  one  of  the  most  early  possessions  of  the  honour¬ 
able  family  of  Ravenswood.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  95 

£  Their  earliest  possession,  5  answered  the  Master,  ‘  and  prob¬ 
ably  their  latest.5 

‘I  —  I  —  I  should  hope  not,  sir,’  answered  the  stranger,  clear¬ 
ing  his  voice  with  more  than  one  cough,  and  making  an  effort 
to  overcome  a  certain  degree  of  hesitation  ;  ‘  Scotland  knows 
what  she  owes  to  this  ancient  family,  and  remembers  their 
frequent  and  honourable  achievements.  I  have  little  doubt 
that,  were  it  properly  represented  to  her  Majesty  that  so  ancient 
and  noble  a  family  were  subjected  to  dilapidation —  I  mean  to 
decay  —  means  might  be  found,  ad  re-cedificandum,  antiquam 
domum - ’ 

‘I  will  save  you  the  trouble,  sir,  of  discussing  this  point 
farther,5  interrupted  the  Master,  haughtily.  ‘I  am  the  heir  of 
that  unfortunate  house  —  I  am  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood.  And 
you,  sir,  who  seem  to  be  a  gentleman  of  fashion  and  education, 
must  be  sensible  that  the  next  mortification  after  being  un¬ 
happy  is  the  being  loaded  with  undesired  commiseration.5 

‘I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,5  said  the  elder  horseman;  ‘I  did 
not  know  —  I  am  sensible  I  ought  not  to  have  mentioned  —  noth¬ 
ing  could  be  farther  from  my  thoughts  than  to  suppose - 5 

‘There  are  no  apologies  necessary,  sir,5  answered  Ravens- 
wood,  ‘  for  here,  I  suppose,  our  roads  separate,  and  I  assure 
you  that  we  part  in  perfect  equanimity  on  my  side.5 

As  speaking  these  words,  he  directed  his  horse’s  head  towards 
a  narrow  causeway,  the  ancient  approach  to  Wolfs  Crag,  of 
which  it  might  be  truly  said,  in  the  words  of  the  Bard  of 
Hope,  that 

Frequented  by  few  was  the  grass-cover’d  road, 

Where  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trode, 

To  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea. 

But  ere  he  could  disengage  himself  from  his  companion,  the 
young  lady  we  have  already  mentioned  came  up  to  join  the 
stranger,  followed  by  her  servants. 

‘Daughter,5  said  the  stranger  to  the  masked  damsel,  ‘this 
is  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.5 

It  would  have  been  natural  that  the  gentleman  should  have 
replied  to  this  introduction ;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
graceful  form  and  retiring  modesty  of  the  female  to  whom  he 
was  thus  presented,  which  not  only  prevented  him  from  inquir¬ 
ing  to  whom,  and  by  whom,  the  annunciation  had  been  made, 
but  which  even  for  the  time  struck  him  absolutely  mute.  At 
this  moment  the  cloud  which  had  long  lowered  above  the  height 


96 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


on  which  Wolfs  Crag  is  situated,  and  which  now,  as  it  advanced, 
spread  itself  in  darker  and  denser  folds  both  over  land  and  sea., 
hiding  the  distant  objects  and  obscuring  those  which  were 
nearer,  turning  the  sea  to  a  leaden  complexion  and  the  heath 
to  a  darker  brown,  began  now,  by  one  or  two  distant  peals,  to 
announce  the  thunders  with  which  it  was  fraught ;  while  two 
flashes  of  lightning,  following  each  other  very  closely,  showed 
in  the  distance  the  grey  turrets  of  Wolfs  Crag,  and,  more 
nearly,  the  rolling  billows  of  the  ocean,  crested  suddenly  with 
red  and  dazzling  light. 

The  horse  of  the  fair  huntress  showed  symptoms  of  im¬ 
patience  and  restiveness,  and  it  became  impossible  for  Ravens- 
wood,  as  a  man  or  a  gentleman,  to  leave  her  abruptly  to  the 
care  of  an  aged  father  or  her  menial  attendants.  He  was,  or 
believed  himself,  obliged  in  courtesy  to  take  hold  of  her  bridle, 
and  assist  her  in  managing  the  unruly  animal.  While  he 
was  thus  engaged,  the  old  gentleman  observed  that  the  storm 
seemed  to  increase ;  that  they  were  far  from  Lord  Bittlebrains’, 
whose  guests  they  were  for  the  present ;  and  that  he  would  be 
obliged  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  to  point  him  the  way  to 
the  nearest  place  of  refuge  from  the  storm.  At  the  same  time 
he  cast  a  wistful  and  embarrassed  look  towards  the  Tower  of 
Wolfs  Crag,  wdiich  seemed  to  render  it  almost  impossible  for 
the  owner  to  avoid  offering  an  old  man  and  a  lady,  in  such  an 
emergency,  the  temporary  use  of  his  house.  Indeed,  the  con¬ 
dition  of  the  young  huntress  made  this  courtesy  indispensable  ; 
for,  in  the  course  of  the  services  which  he  rendered,  he  could 
not  but  perceive  that  she  trembled  much,  and  wTas  extremely 
agitated,  from  her  apprehensions,  doubtless,  of  the  coming 
storm. 

I  know  not  if  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  shared  her  terrors, 
but  he  was  not  entirely  free  from  something  like  a  similar 
disorder  of  nerves,  as  he  observed,  ‘  The  Tower  of  W olf  s  Crag 
has  nothing  to  offer  beyond  the  shelter  of  its  roof,  but  if  that 

can  be  acceptable  at  such  a  moment - ’  he  paused,  as  if  the 

rest  of  the  invitation  stuck  in  his  throat.  But  the  old  gentle¬ 
man,  his  self-constituted  companion,  did  not  allow  him  to  re¬ 
cede  from  the  invitation,  which  he  had  rather  suffered  to  be 
implied  than  directly  expressed. 

‘The  storm/  said  the  stranger,  ‘must  be  an  apology  for 
waiving  ceremony ;  his  daughter’s  health  was  weak,  she  had 
suffered  much  from  a  recent  alarm ;  he  trusted  their  intrusion 
on  the  Master  of  Raven swood’s  hospitality  would  not  be  alto- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  97 

getlier  unpardonable  in  the  circumstances  of  the  case :  his 
child’s  safety  must  be  dearer  to  him  than  ceremony.’ 

There  was  no  room  to  retreat.  The  Master  of  ftavenswood 
led  the  way,  continuing  to  keep  hold  of  the  lady’s  bridle  to 
prevent  her  horse  from  starting  at  some  unexpected  explosion 
of  thunder.  He  was  not  so  bewildered  in  his  own  hurried  re¬ 
flections  but  that  he  remarked,  that  the  deadly  paleness  which 
had  occupied  her  neck  and  temples,  and  such  of  her  features  as 
the  riding-mask  left  exposed,  gave  place  to  a  deep  and  rosy 
suffusion ;  and  he  felt  with  embarrassment  that  a  flush  was  by 
tacit  sympathy  excited  in  his  own  cheeks.  The  stranger,  with 
watchfulness  which  he  disguised  under  apprehensions  for  the 
safety  of  his  daughter,  continued  to  observe  the  expression  of 
the  Master’s  countenance  as  they  ascended  the  hill  to  Wolf’s 
Crag.  When  they  stood  in  front  of  that  ancient  fortress,  Ravens- 
wood’s  emotions  were  of  a  very  complicated  description ;  and  as 
he  led  the  way  into  the  rude  courtyard,  and  hallooed  to  Caleb 
to  give  attendance,  there  was  a  tone  of  sternness,  almost  of 
fierceness,  which  seemed  somewhat  alien  from  the  courtesies  of 
one  who  is  receiving  honoured  guests. 

Caleb  came ;  and  not  the  paleness  of  the  fair  stranger  at 
the  first  approach  of  the  thunder,  nor  the  paleness  of  any  other 
person,  in  any  other  circumstances  whatever,  equalled  that 
which  overcame  the  thin  cheeks  of  the  disconsolate  seneschal 
when  he  beheld  this  accession  of  guests  to  the  castle,  and  re¬ 
flected  that  the  dinner  hour  was  fast  approaching.  ‘  Is  he  daft  ?  ’ 
he  muttered  to  himself  —  ‘  is  he  clean  daft  a’thegither,  to  bring 
lords  and  leddies,  and  a  host  of  folk  behint  them,  and  twal 
o’clock  chappit  ?  ’  Then  approaching  the  Master,  he  craved 
pardon  for  having  permitted  the  rest  of  his  people  to  go  out  to 
see  the  hunt,  observing,  that  c  They  wad  never  think  of  his  lord- 
ship  coming  back  till  mirk  night,  and  that  he  dreaded  they 
might  play  the  truant.’ 

‘  Silence,  Balderstone  !  ’  said  RavenswTood,  sternly  ;  £  your 
folly  is  unseasonable.  Sir  and  madam,’  he  said,  turning  to  his 
guests,  ‘  this  old  man,  and  a  yet  older  and  more  imbecile  female 
domestic,  form  my  whole  retinue.  Our  means  of  refreshing 
you  are  more  scanty  than  even  so  miserable  a  retinue,  and  a 
dwelling  so  dilapidated,  might  seem  to  promise  you  ;  but,  such 
as  they  may  chance  to  be,  you  may  command  them.’ 

The  elder  stranger,  struck  with  the  ruined  and  even  savage 
appearance  of  the  Tower,  rendered  still  more  disconsolate  by 
the  lowering  and  gloomy  sky,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  un- 

VOL.  VIII  —  7 


98 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


moved  by  the  grave  and  determined  voice  in  which  their  host 
addressed  them,  looked  round  him  anxiously,  as  if  he  half 
repented  the  readiness  with  which  he  had  accepted  the  offered 
hospitality.  But  there  was  now  no  opportunity  of  receding 
from  the  situation  in  which  he  had  placed  himself. 

As  for  Caleb,  he  was  so  utterly  stunned  by  his  master’s 
public  and  unqualified  acknowledgment  of  the  nakedness  of  the 
land,  that  for  two  minutes  he  could  only  mutter  within  his 
hebdomadal  beard,  which  had  not  felt  the  razor  for  six  days, 

‘  He ’s  daft  —  clean  daft  —  red  wud,  and  awa’  wi’t !  But  deil  hae 
Caleb  Balderstone,’  said  he,  collecting  his  powers  of  invention 
and  resource,  ‘  if  the  family  shall  lose  credit,  if  he  were  as  mad 
as  the  seven  wise  masters  !  ’  He  then  boldly  advanced,  and  in 
spite  of  his  master’s  frowns  and  impatience,  gravely  asked,  ‘  If 
he  should  not  serve  up  some  slight  refection  for  the  young 

leddy,  and  a  glass  of  tokay,  or  old  sack  —  or - ’ 

‘Truce  to  this  ill-timed  foolery,’  said  the  Master,  sternly; 

‘  put  the  horses  into  the  stable,  and  interrupt  us  no  more  with 
your  absurdities.’ 

‘  Your  honour’s  pleasure  is  to  be  obeyed  aboon  a’  things,’ 
said  Caleb ;  ‘  nevertheless,  as  for  the  sack  and  tokay  which  it 

is  not  your  noble  guests’  pleasure  to  accept - ’ 

But  here  the  voice  of  Bucklaw,  heard  even  above  the  clatter¬ 
ing  of  hoofs  and  braying  of  horns  with  which  it  mingled, 
announced  that  he  was  scaling  the  pathway  to  the  Tower  at  the 
head  of  the  greater  part  of  the  gallant  hunting  train. 

‘  The  deil  be  in  me,’  said  Caleb,  taking  heart  in  spite  of  this 
new  invasion  of  Philistines,  ‘  if  they  shall  beat  me  yet !  The 
hellicat  ne’er-do-weel !  to  bring  such  a  crew  here,  that  will 
expect  to  find  brandy  as  plenty  as  ditch-water,  and  he  kenning 
sae  absolutely  the  case  in  whilk  we  stand  for  the  present !  But 
I  trow,  could  I  get  rid  of  thae  gaping  gowks  of  flunkies  that 
hae  won  into  the  courtyard  at  the  back  of  their  betters,  as 
mony  a  man  gets  preferment,  I  could  make  a’  right  yet.’ 

The  measures  which  he  took  to  execute  this  dauntless  resolu¬ 
tion,  the  reader  shall  learn  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X 


With  throat  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 

Agape  they  heard  him  call  ; 

Gramercy  they  for  joy  did  grin, 

And  all  at  once  their  breath  drew  in, 

As  they  had  been  drinking  all ! 

Coleridge’s  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 

HAYSTON  of  Bucklaw  was  one  of  the  thoughtless  class 
who  never  hesitate  between  their  friend  and  their  jest. 
When  it  was  announced  that  the  principal  persons 
of  the  chase  had  taken  their  route  towards  Wolfs  Crag,  the 
huntsmen,  as  a  point  of  civility,  offered  to  transfer  the  veni¬ 
son  to  that  mansion ;  a  proffer  which  was  readily  accepted  by 
Bucklaw,  who  thought  much  of  the  astonishment  which  their 
arrival  in  full  body  would  occasion  poor  old  Caleb  Balderstone, 
and  very  little  of  the  dilemma  to  which  he  was  about  to  ex¬ 
pose  his  friend  the  Master,  so  ill  circumstanced  to  receive  such 
a  party.  But  in  old  Caleb  he  had  to  do  with  a  crafty  and  alert 
antagonist,  prompt  at  supplying,  upon  all  emergencies,  eva¬ 
sions  and  excuses  suitable,  as  he  thought,  to  the  dignity  of  the 
family. 

‘  Praise  be  blest !  ’  said  Caleb  to  himself,  £  ae  leaf  of  the 
muckle  gate  has  been  swung  to  wi’  yestreen’s  wind,  and  I  think 
I  can  manage  to  shut  the  ither.’ 

But  he  was  desirous,  like  a  prudent  governor,  at  the  same 
time  to  get  rid,  if  possible,  of  the  internal  enemy,  in  which 
light  he  considered  almost  every  one  who  eat  and  drank,  ere  he 
took  measures  to  exclude  those  whom  their  jocund  noise  now 
pronounced  to  be  near  at  hand.  He  waited,  therefore,  with 
impatience  until  his  master  had  shown  his  two  principal  guests 
into  the  Tower,  and  then  commenced  his  operations. 

‘  I  think,’  he  said  to  the  stranger  menials,  £  that,  as  they  are 
bringing  the  stag’s  head  to  the  castle  in  all  honour,  we,  who 
are  indwellers,  should  receive  them  at  the  gate.’ 

The  unwary  grooms  had  no  sooner  hurried  out,  in  com- 


100 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


pliance  with  this  insidious  hint,  than,  one  folding- door  of  the 
ancient  gate  being  already  closed  by  the  wind,  as  has  been 
already  intimated,  honest  Caleb  lost  no  time  in  shutting  the 
other  with  a  clang,  which  resounded  from  donjon-vault  to 
battlement.  Having  thus  secured  the  pass,  he  forthwith  in¬ 
dulged  the  excluded  huntsmen  in  brief  parley,  from  a  small 
projecting  window,  or  shot-hole,  through  which,  in  former  days, 
the  warders  were  wont  to  reconnoitre  those  wrho  presented 
themselves  before  the  gates.  He  gave  them  to  understand,  in 
a  short  and  pithy  speech,  that  the  gate  of  the  castle  was  never 
on  any  account  opened  during  meal-times  ;  that  his  honour,  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  and  some  guests  of  quality,  had  just  sat 
down  to  dinner ;  that  there  was  excellent  brandy  at  the  hostler- 
wife’s  at  Wolfs  Hope  down  below;  and  he  held  out  some  ob¬ 
scure  hint  that  the  reckoning  would  be  discharged  by  the 
Master ;  but  this  was  uttered  in  a  very  dubious  and  oracular 
strain,  for,  like  Louis  XIV.,  Caleb  Balderstone  hesitated  to  carry 
finesse  so  far  as  direct  falsehood,  and  was  content  to  deceive,  if 
possible,  without  directly  lying. 

This  annunciation  was  received  with  surprise  by  some,  with 
laughter  by  others,  and  with  dismay  by  the  expelled  lackeys,  who 
endeavoured  to  demonstrate  that  their  right  of  readmission,  for 
the  purpose  of  waiting  upon  their  master  and  mistress,  was  at 
least  indisputable.  But  Caleb  was  not  in  a  humour  to  under¬ 
stand  or  admit  any  distinctions.  He  stuck  to  his  original  pro¬ 
position  with  that  dogged  but  convenient  pertinacity  which 
is  armed  against  all  conviction,  and  deaf  to  all  reasoning. 
Bucklaw  now  came  from  the  rear  of  the  party,  and  demanded 
admittance  in  a  very  angry  tone.  But  the  resolution  of  Caleb 
was  immovable. 

‘  If  the  king  on  the  throne  were  at  the  gate,’  he  declared, 

‘  his  ten  fingers  should  never  open  it  contrair  to  the  established 
use  and  wont  of  the  family  of  Ravenswood,  and  his  duty  as  their 
head -servant.’ 

Bucklaw  was  now  extremely  incensed,  and  with  more  oaths 
and  curses  than  we  care  to  repeat,  declared  himself  most  un¬ 
worthily  treated,  and  demanded  peremptorily  to  speak  with  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  himself. 

But  to  this  also  Caleb  turned  a  deaf  ear.  ‘  He ’s  as  soon 
a-bleeze  as  a  tap  of  tow,  the  lad  Bucklaw,’  he  said  ;  ‘but  the 
deil  of  ony  master’s  face  he  shall  see  till  he  has  sleepit  and 
waken’d  on  ’t.  He  ’ll  ken  himsell  better  the  morn’s  morning. 
It  sets  the  like  o’  him,  to  be  bringing  a  crew  of  drunken 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


101 


hunters  here,  when  he  kens  there  is  but  little  preparation  to 
sloken  his  ain  drought.’  And  he  disappeared  from  the  window, 
leaving  them  all  to  digest  their  exclusion  as  they  best  might. 

But  another  person,  of  whose  presence  Caleb,  in  the  anima¬ 
tion  of  the  debate,  was  not  aware,  had  listened  in  silence  to  its 
progress.  This  was  the  principal  domestic  of  the  stranger  —  a 
man  of  trust  and  consequence  —  the  same  who,  in  the  hunting- 
field,  had  accommodated  Bucklaw  with  the  use  of  his  horse.  He 
was  in  the  stable  when  Caleb  had  contrived  the  expulsion  of  his 
fellow-servants,  and  thus  avoided  sharing  the  same  fate,  from 
which  his  personal  importance  would  certainly  not  have  other¬ 
wise  saved  him. 

This  personage  perceived  the  manoeuvre  of  Caleb,  easily  ap¬ 
preciated  the  motive  of  his  conduct,  and  knowing  his  master’s 
intentions  towards  the  family  of  Ravenswood,  had  no  difficulty 
as  to  the  line  of  conduct  he  ought  to  adopt.  He  took  the  place 
of  Caleb  (unperceived  by  the  latter)  at  the  post  of  audience 
which  he  had  just  left,  and  announced  to  the  assembled 
domestics,  ‘  That  it  was  his  master’s  pleasure  that  Lord  Bittle- 
brains’  retinue  and  his  own  should  go  down  to  the  adjacent 
change-house  and  call  for  what  refreshments  they  might  have 
occasion  for,  and  he  should  take  care  to  discharge  the  lawing.’ 

The  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen  retired  from  the  inhospitable 
gate  of  Wolf’s  Crag,  execrating,  as  they  descended  the  steep 
pathway,  the  niggard  and  unworthy  disposition  of  the  pro¬ 
prietor,  and  damning,  with  more  than  silvan  license,  both  the 
castle  and  its  inhabitants.  Bucklaw,  with  many  qualities 
which  would  have  made  him  a  man  of  worth  and  judgment  in 
more  favourable  circumstances,  had  been  so  utterly  neglected 
in  point  of  education,  that  he  was  apt  to  think  and  feel  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  ideas  of  the  companions  of  his  pleasures.  The 
praises  which  had  recently  been  heaped  upon  himself  he  con¬ 
trasted  with  the  general  abuse  now  levelled  against  Ravens- 
wood ;  he  recalled  to  his  mind  the  dull  and  monotonous  days  he 
had  spent  in  the  Tower  of  Wolf’s  Crag,  compared  with  the 
joviality  of  his  usual  life ;  he  felt  with  great  indignation  his 
exclusion  from  the  castle,  which  he  considered  as  a  gross  affront, 
and  every  mingled  feeling  led  him  to  break  off  the  union 
which  he  had  formed  with  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

On  arriving  at  the  change-house  of  the  village  of  Wolf’s 
Hope,  he  unexpectedly  met  with  an  old  acquaintance  just 
alighting  from  his  horse.  This  was  no  other  than  the  very 
respectable  Captain  Craigengelt,  who  immediately  came  up  to 


102 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


him,  and,  without  appearing  to  retain  any  recollection  of  the 
indifferent  terms  on  which  they  had  parted,  shook  him  by 
the  hand  in  the  warmest  manner  possible.  A  warm  grasp  of 
the  hand  was  what  Bucklaw  could  never  help  returning  with 
cordiality,  and  no  sooner  had  Craigengelt  felt  the  pressure 
of  his  fingers  than  he  knew  the  terms  on  which  he  stood  with 
him. 

‘  Long  life  to  you,  Bucklaw  !  ’  he  exclaimed ;  £  there ’s  life  for 
honest  folk  in  this  bad  world  yet !  ’ 

The  Jacobites  at  this  period,  with  what  propriety  I  know 
not,  used,  it  must  be  noticed,  the  term  of  honest  men  as  pecul¬ 
iarly  descriptive  of  their  own  party. 

‘Ay,  and  for  others  besides,  it  seems/ answered  Bucklaw; 

‘  otherways,  how  came  you  to  venture  hither,  noble  Captain  %  ’ 

‘  Who  —  I  %  I  am  as  free  as  the  wind  at  Martinmas,  that 
pays  neither  land-rent  nor  annual ;  all  is  explained  —  all  settled 
with  the  honest  old  drivellers  yonder  of  Auld  Reekie.  Pooh  ! 
pooh  !  they  dared  not  keep  me  a  week  of  days  in  durance.  A 
certain  person  has  better  friends  among  them  than  you  wot  of, 
and  can  serve  a  friend  when  it  is  least  likely.’ 

‘  Pshaw !  ’  answered  Hayston,  who  perfectly  knew  and 
thoroughly  despised  the  character  of  this  man,  ‘  none  of  your 
cogging  gibberish;  tell  me  truly,  are  you  at  liberty  and  in 
safety  ?  ’ 

‘  Free  and  safe  as  a  Whig  bailie  on  the  causeway  of  his  own 
borough,  or  a  canting  Presbyterian  minister  in  his  own  pulpit ; 
and  I  came  to  tell  you  that  you  need  not  remain  in  hiding 
any  longer.’ 

‘Then  I  suppose  you  call  yourself  my  friend,  Captain 
Craigengelt  ?  ’  said  Bucklaw. 

‘  Friend  !  ’  replied  Craigengelt,  ‘  my  cock  of  the  pit !  why,  I 
am  thy  very  Achates,  man,  as  I  have  heard  scholars  say  —  hand 
and  glove  —  bark  and  tree  —  thine  to  life  and  death  !  ’ 

‘I  ’ll  try  that  in  a  moment,’  answered  Bucklaw.  ‘  Thou  art 
never  without  money,  however  thou  comest  by  it.  Lend  me 
two  pieces  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  these  honest  fellows’  throats 
in  the  first  place,  and  then - ’ 

‘  Two  pieces  !  Twenty  are  at  thy  service,  my  lad,  and  twenty 
to  back  them.’ 

‘  Ay,  say  you  so  ?  ’  said  Bucklaw,  pausing,  for  his  natural 
penetration  led  him  to  suspect  some  extraordinary  motive  lay 
couched  under  such  an  excess  of  generosity.  ‘  Craigengelt,  you 
are  either  an  honest  fellow  in  right  good  earnest,  and  I  scarce 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


103 


know  how  to  believe  that ;  or  you  are  cleverer  than  I  took  you 
for,  and  I  scarce  know  how  to  believe  that  either.’ 

‘  Lun  riempeche  pas  V autre,'  said  Craigengelt.  ‘  Touch  and 
try ;  the  gold  is  good  as  ever  was  weighed.’ 

He  put  a  quantity  of  gold  pieces  into  Bucklaw’s  hand,  which 
he  thrust  into  his  pocket  without  either  counting  or  looking  at 
them,  only  observing,  ‘  That  he  was  so  circumstanced  that  he 
must  enlist,  though  the  devil  offered  the  press-money  ’ ;  and  then 
turning  to  the  huntsmen,  he  called  out,  ‘  Come  along,  my  lads ; 
all  is  at  my  cost.’ 

‘  Long  life  to  Bucklaw  !  ’  shouted  the  men  of  the  chase. 

‘  And  confusion  to  him  that  takes  his  share  of  the  sport,  and 
leaves  the  hunters  as  dry  as  a  drumhead,’  added  another,  by 
way  of  corollary. 

4  The  house  of  Ravenswood  was  ance  a  gude  and  an  honour¬ 
able  house  in  this  land,’  said  an  old  man ;  ‘  but  it ’s  lost  its  credit 
this  day,  and  the  Master  has  shown  himself  no  better  than  a 
greedy  cullion.’ 

And  with  this  conclusion,  which  was  unanimously  agreed  to 
by  all  who  heard  it,  they  rushed  tumultuously  into  the  house 
of  entertainment,  where  they  revelled  till  a  late  hour.  The 
jovial  temper  of  Bucklaw  seldom  permitted  him  to  be  nice  in 
the  choice  of  his  associates ;  and  on  the  present  occasion,  when 
his  joyous  debauch  received  additional  zest  from  the  inter¬ 
vention  of  an  unusual  space  of  sobriety,  and  almost  abstinence, 
he  was  as  happy  in  leading  the  revels  as  if  his  comrades  had 
been  sons  of  princes.  Craigengelt  had  his  own  purposes  in 
fooling  him  up  to  the  top  of  his  bent ;  and  having  some  low 
humour,  much  impudence,  and  the  power  of  singing  a  good 
song,  understanding  besides  thoroughly  the  disposition  of  his 
regained  associate,  he  readily  succeeded  in  involving  him  bumper- 
deep  in  the  festivity  of  the  meeting. 

A  very  different  scene  was  in  the  meantime  passing  in  the 
Tower  of  Wolfs  Crag.  When  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  left 
the  courtyard,  too  much  busied  with  his  own  perplexed  reflec¬ 
tions  to  pay  attention  to  the  manoeuvre  of  Caleb,  he  ushered 
his  guests  into  the  great  hall  of  the  castle. 

The  indefatigable  Balderstone,  who,  from  choice  or  habit, 
worked  on  from  morning  to  night,  had  by  degrees  cleared  this 
desolate  apartment  of  the  confused  relics  of  the  funeral  banquet, 
and  restored  it  to  some  order.  But  not  all  his  skill  and  labour, 
in  disposing  to  advantage  the  little  furniture  which  remained, 


104 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


could  remove  the  dark  and  disconsolate  appearance  of  those 
ancient  and  disfurnished  walls.  The  narrow  windows,  flanked 
by  deep  indentures  into  the  wall,  seemed  formed  rather  to 
exclude  than  to  admit  the  cheerful  light ;  and  the  heavy  and 
gloomy  appearance  of  the  thunder- sky  added  still  farther  to 
the  obscurity. 

As  Ravenswood,  with  the  grace  of  a  gallant  of  that  period, 
but  not  without  a  certain  stiffness  and  embarrassment  of 
manner,  handed  the  young  lady  to  the  upper  end  of  the  apart¬ 
ment,  her  father  remained  standing  more  near  to  the  door,  as 
if  about  to  disengage  himself  from  his  hat  and  cloak.  At  this 
moment  the  clang  of  the  portal  was  heard,  a  sound  at  which 
the  stranger  started,  stepped  hastily  to  the  window,  and  looked 
with  an  air  of  alarm  at  Ravenswood,  when  he  saw  that  the  gate 
of  the  court  was  shut,  and  his  domestics  excluded. 

‘You  have  nothing  to  fear,  sir/  said  Ravenswood,  gravely; 
‘  this  roof  retains  the  means  of  giving  protection,  though  not 
welcome.  Methinks/  he  added,  ‘it  is  time  that  I  should  know 
who  they  are  that  have  thus  highly  honoured  my  ruined 
dwelling !  ’ 

The  young  lady  remained  silent  and  motionless,  and  the 
father,  to  whom  the  question  was  more  directly  addressed, 
seemed  in  the  situation  of  a  performer  who  has  ventured  to  take 
upon  himself  a  part  which  he  finds  himself  unable  to  present, 
and  who  comes  to  a  pause  when  it  is  most  to  be  expected  that 
he  should  speak.  While  he  endeavoured  to  cover  his  embarrass¬ 
ment  with  the  exterior  ceremonials  of  a  well-bred  demeanour,  it 
was  obvious  that,  in  making  his  bow,  one  foot  shuffled  forward, 
as  if  to  advance,  the  other  backward,  as  if  with  the  purpose  of 
escape ;  and  as  he  undid  the  cape  of  his  coat,  and  raised  his 
beaver  from  his  face,  his  fingers  fumbled  as  if  the  one  had  been 
linked  with  rusted  iron,  or  the  other  had  weighed  equal  with  a 
stone  of  lead.  The  darkness  of  the  sky  seemed  to  increase,  as 
if  to  supply  the  want  of  those  mufflings  which  he  laid  aside 
with  such  evident  reluctance.  The  impatience  of  Ravenswood 
increased  also  in  proportion  to  the  delay  of  the  stranger,  and 
he  appeared  to  struggle  under  agitation,  though  probably  from 
a  very  different  cause.  He  laboured  to  restrain  his  desire  to 
speak  while  the  stranger,  to  all  appearance,  was  at  a  loss  for 
words  to  express  what  he  felt  it  necessary  to  say. 

At  length  Ravenswood’s  impatience  broke  the  bonds  he  had 
imposed  upon  it.  ‘  I  perceive,’  he  said,  ‘  that  Sir  William  Ashton 
is  unwilling  to  announce  himself  in  the  Castle  of  Wolfs  Crag.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


105 


‘I  had  hoped  it  was  unnecessary,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper, 
relieved  from  his  silence,  as  a  spectre  by  the  voice  of  the 
exorcist ;  ‘  and  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
for  breaking  the  ice  at  once,  where  circumstances  —  unhappy 
circumstances,  let  me  call  them  —  rendered  self-introduction 
peculiarly  awkward.’ 

‘  And  I  am  not  then,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  gravely, 
‘  to  consider  the  honour  of  this  visit  as  purely  accidental  1  ’ 

‘Let  us  distinguish  a  little,’  said  the  Keeper,  assuming  an 
appearance  of  ease  which  perhaps  his  heart  was  a  stranger  to ; 
‘  this  is  an  honour  which  I  have  eagerly  desired  for  some  time, 
but  which  I  might  never  have  obtained,  save  for  the  accident 
of  the  storm.  My  daughter  and  I  are  alike  grateful  for  this 
opportunity  of  thanking  the  brave  man  to  whom  she  owes  her 
life  and  I  mine.’ 

The  hatred  which  divided  the  great  families  in  the  feudal 
times  had  lost  little  of  its  bitterness,  though  it  no  longer  ex¬ 
pressed  itself  in  deeds  of  open  violence.  Not  the  feelings  which 
Pvavenswood  had  begun  to  entertain  towards  Lucy  Ashton,  not 
the  hospitality  due  to  his  guests,  were  able  entirely  to  subdue, 
though  they  warmly  combated,  the  deep  passions  which  arose 
within  him  at  beholding  his  father’s  foe  standing  in  the  hall  of 
the  family  of  which  he  had  in  a  great  measure  accelerated  the 
ruin.  His  looks  glanced  from  the  father  to  the  daughter  with 
an  irresolution  of  which  Sir  William  Ashton  did  not  think  it 
proper  to  await  the  conclusion.  He  had  now  disembarrassed 
himself  of  his  riding-dress,  and  walking  up  to  his  daughter,  he 
undid  the  fastening  of  her  mask. 

‘  Lucy,  my  love,’  he  said,  raising  her  and  leading  her  towards 
Ravenswood,  ‘lay  aside  your  mask,  and  let  us  express  our 
gratitude  to  the  Master  openly  and  barefaced.’ 

‘  If  he  will  condescend  to  accept  it,’  was  all  that  Lucy 
uttered ;  but  in  a  tone  so  sweetly  modulated,  and  which  seemed 
to  imply  at  once  a  feeling  and  a  forgiving  of  the  cold  reception 
to  which  they  were  exposed,  that,  coming  from  a  creature  so 
innocent  and  so  beautiful,  her  words  cut  Ravenswood  to  the 
very  heart  for  his  harshness.  He  muttered  something  of  sur¬ 
prise,  something  of  confusion,  and,  ending  with  a  warm  and 
eager  expression  of  his  happiness  at  being  able  to  afford  her 
shelter  under  his  roof,  he  saluted  her,  as  the  ceremonial  of  the 
time  enjoined  upon  such  occasions.  Their  cheeks  had  touched 
and  were  withdrawn  from  each  other;  Ravenswood  had  not 
quitted  the  hand  which  he  had  taken  in  kindly  courtesy ;  a 


106 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOO R 


blush,  which  attached  more  consequence  by  far  than  was  usual 
to  such  ceremony,  still  mantled  on  Lucy  Ashton’s  beautiful 
cheek,  when  the  apartment  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  flash 
of  lightning,  which  seemed  absolutely  to  swallow  the  darkness 
of  the  hall.  Every  object  might  have  been  for  an  instant  seen 
distinctly.  The  slight  and  half- sinking  form  of  Lucy  Ashton ; 
the  well-proportioned  and  stately  figure  of  Ravenswood,  his 
dark  features,  and  the  fiery  yet  irresolute  expression  of  his  eyes ; 
the  old  arms  and  scutcheons  which  hung  on  the  walls  of  the 
apartment,  were  for  an  instant  distinctly  visible  to  the  Keeper 
by  a  strong  red  brilliant  glare  of  light.  Its  disappearance  was 
almost  instantly  followed  by  a  burst  of  thunder,  for  the  storm- 
cloud  was  very  near  the  castle  ;  and  the  peal  was  so  sudden 
and  dreadful,  that  the  old  tower  rocked  to  its  foundation,  and 
every  inmate  concluded  it  was  falling  upon  them.  The  soot, 
which  had  not  been  disturbed  for  centuries,  showered  down  the 
huge  tunnelled  chimneys ;  lime  and  dust  flew  in  clouds  from 
the  wall ;  and,  whether  the  lightning  had  actually  struck  the 
castle  or  whether  through  the  violent  concussion  of  the  air, 
several  heavy  stones  were  hurled  from  the  mouldering  battle¬ 
ments  into  the  roaring  sea  beneath.  It  might  seem  as  if  the 
ancient  founder  of  the  castle  were  bestriding  the  thunderstorm, 
and  proclaiming  his  displeasure  at  the  reconciliation  of  his 
descendant  with  the  enemy  of  his  house. 

The  consternation  was  general,  and  it  required  the  efforts 
of  both  the  Lord  Keeper  and  Ravenswood  to  keep  Lucy  from 
fainting.  Thus  was  the  Master  a  second  time  engaged  in  the 
most  delicate  and  dangerous  of  all  tasks,  that  of  affording 
support  to  a  beautiful  and  helpless  being,  who,  as  seen  be¬ 
fore  in  a  similar  situation,  had  already  become  a  favourite 
of  his  imagination,  both  when  awake  and  when  slumber¬ 
ing.  If  the  genius  of  the  house  really  condemned  a  union 
betwixt  the  Master  and  his  fair  guest,  the  means  by  which 
he  expressed  his  sentiments  were  as  unhappily  chosen  as  if 
he  had  been  a  mere  mortal.  The  train  of  little  attentions, 
absolutely  necessary  to  soothe  the  young  lady’s  mind,  and  aid 
her  in  composing  her  spirits,  necessarily  threw  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  into  such  an  intercourse  with  her  father  as  was 
calculated,  for  the  moment  at  least,  to  break  down  the  barrier 
of  feudal  enmity  which  divided  them.  To  express  himself 
churlishly,  or  even  coldly,  towards  an  old  man  whose  daughter 
(and  such  a  daughter)  lay  before  them,  overpowered  with 
natural  terror  —  and  all  this  under  his  own  roof — the  thing 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


107 


was  impossible ;  and  by  the  time  that  Lucy,  extending  a  hand 
to  each,  was  able  to  thank  them  for  their  kindness,  the  Master 
felt  that  his  sentiments  of  hostility  towards  the  Lord  Keeper 
were  by  no  means  those  most  predominant  in  his  bosom. 

The  weather,  her  state  of  health,  the  absence  of  her  at¬ 
tendants,  all  prevented  the  possibility  of  Lucy  Ashton  renewing 
her  journey  to  Bittlebrains  House,  which  was  full  five  miles 
distant ;  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  not  but,  in 
common  courtesy,  offer  the  shelter  of  his  roof  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  and  for  the  night.  But  a  flush  of  less  soft  expression, 
a  look  much  more  habitual  to  his  features,  resumed  predomi¬ 
nance  when  he  mentioned  how  meanly  he  was  provided  for  the 
entertainment  of  his  guests. 

‘Do  not  mention  deficiencies,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  eager 
to  interrupt  him  and  prevent  his  resuming  an  alarming  topic  ; 
‘  you  are  preparing  to  set  out  for  the  Continent,  and  your  house 
is  probably  for  the  present  unfurnished.  All  this  we  under¬ 
stand  ;  but  if  you  mention  inconvenience,  you  will  oblige  us  to 
seek  accommodations  in  the  hamlet.’ 

As  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  was  about  to  reply,  the  door 
of  the  hall  opened,  and  Caleb  Balderstone  rushed  in. 


CHAPTER  XI 


Let  them  have  meat  enough,  woman  —  half  a  hen ; 
There  he  old  rotten  pilchards  —  put  them  off  too  ; 

’T  is  but  a  little  new  anointing  of  them, 

And  a  strong  onion,  that  confounds  the  savour. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 


THE  thunderbolt,  which  had  stunned  all  who  were 
within  hearing  of  it,  had  only  served  to  awaken  the 
bold  and  inventive  genius  of  the  flower  of  majors-domo. 
Almost  before  the  clatter  had  ceased,  and  while  there  was  yet 
scarce  an  assurance  whether  the  castle  was  standing  or  falling, 
Caleb  exclaimed,  ‘  Heavens  be  praised  !  this  comes  to  hand  like 
the  bowl  of  a  pint-stoup.’  He  then  barred  the  kitchen  door  in 
the  face  of  the  Lord  Keeper’s  servant,  whom  he  perceived  re¬ 
turning  from  the  party  at  the  gate,  and  muttering,  ‘  How  the 
deil  cam  he  in  ?  —  but  deil  may  care.  Mysie,  what  are  ye  sit¬ 
ting  shaking  and  greeting  in  the  chimney-neuk  for  %  Come 
here  —  or  stay  where  ye  are,  and  skirl  as  loud  as  ye  can ;  it ’s 
a’  ye  ’re  gude  for.  I  say,  ye  auld  deevil,  skirl  —  skirl  —  louder 
—  louder,  woman ;  gar  the  gentles  hear  ye  in  the  ha’.  I  have 
heard  ye  as  far  off  as  the  Bass  for  a  less  matter.  And  stay  — 
down  wi’  that  crockery - ’ 

And  with  a  sweeping  blow,  he  threw  down  from  a  shelf 
some  articles  of  pewter  and  earthenware.  He  exalted  his  voice 
amid  the  clatter,  shouting  and  roaring  in  a  manner  which 
changed  Mysie’s  hysterical  terrors  of  the  thunder  into  fears 
that  her  old  fellow-servant  was  gone  distracted.  ‘  He  has  dung 
down  a’  the  bits  o’  pigs,  too  —  the  only  thing  we  had  left  to 
haud  a  soup  milk  —  and  he  has  spilt  the  hatted  kit  that  was 
for  the  Master’s  dinner.  Mercy  save  us,  the  auld  man ’s  gaen 
clean  and  clear  wud  wi’  the  thunner  !  ’ 

‘  Haud  your  tongue,  ye  b - !  ’  said  Caleb,  in  the  impetuous 

and  overbearing  triumph  of  successful  invention,  £  a ’s  provided 
now  —  dinner  and  a’thing  ;  the  thunner ’s  done  a’  in  a  clap  of  a 
hand  1  ’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


109 


c  Puir  man,  lie ’s  muckle  astray,’  said  Mysie,  looking  at  him 
with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  alarm ;  ‘  I  wish  he  may  ever  come 
hame  to  himsell  again.’ 

‘  Here,  ye  auld  doited  deevil, ’  said  Caleb,  still  exulting  in  his 
extrication  from  a  dilemma  which  had  seemed  insurmountable ; 

‘  keep  the  strange  man  out  of  the  kitchen ;  swear  the  thunner 
came  down  the  chimney  and  spoiled  the  best  dinner  ye  ever 
dressed  —  beef  —  bacon  —  kid  —  lark  —  leveret  —  wild-fowl  — 
venison,  and  what  not.  Lay  it  on  thick,  and  never  mind  ex¬ 
penses.  I  ’ll  awa’  up  to  the  ha’.  Make  a’  the  confusion  ye  can ; 
hut  be  sure  ye  keep  out  the  strange  servant.’ 

With  these  charges  to  his  ally,  Caleb  posted  up  to  the  hall, 
hut  stopping  to  reconnoitre  through  an  aperture,  which  time, 
for  the  convenience  of  many  a  domestic  in  succession,  had  made 
in  the  door,  and  perceiving  the  situation  of  Miss  Ashton,  he  had 
prudence  enough  to  make  a  pause,  both  to  avoid  adding  to  her 
alarm  and  in  order  to  secure  attention  to  his  account  of  the 
disastrous  effects  of  the  thunder. 

But  when  he  perceived  that  the  lady  was  recovered,  and 
heard  the  conversation  turn  upon  the  accommodation  and 
refreshment  which  the  castle  afforded,  he  thought  it  time  to 
burst  into  the  room  in  the  manner  announced  in  the  last 
chapter. 

‘Wull  a  wins!  Such  a  misfortune  to  befa’  the  house  of 
Ravenswood,  and  I  to  live  to  see  it.’ 

‘  What  is  the  matter,  Caleb  ?  ’  said  his  master,  somewhat 
alarmed  in  his  turn ;  ‘  has  any  part  of  the  castle  fallen  ?  ’ 

‘  Castle  fa’an !  na,  but  the  sute  \s  fa’an,  and  the  thunner ’s 
come  right  down  the  kitchen-lum,  and  the  things  are  a’  lying 
here  awa’,  there  awa’,  like  the  Laird  o’  Hotchpotch’s  lands ;  and 
wi’  brave  guests  of  honour  and  quality  to  entertain  (a  low 
bow  here  to  Sir  William  Ashton  and  his  daughter),  and  nae- 
thing  left  in  the  house  fit  to  present  for  dinner,  or  for  supper 
either,  for  aught  that  I  can  see !  ’ 

‘  I  verily  believe  you,  Caleb,’  said  Ravenswood,  drily. 

Balderstone  here  turned  to  his  master  a  half-upbraiding, 
half- imploring  countenance,  and  edged  towards  him  as  he 
repeated,  ‘It  was  nae  great  matter  of  preparation;  but  just 
something  added  to  your  honour’s  ordinary  course  of  fare  — 
'petty  cover,  as  they  say  at  the  Louvre  —  three  courses  and  the 
fruit/ 

‘  Keep  your  intolerable  nonsense  to  yourself,  you  old  fool !  ’ 
said  Ravenswood,  mortified  at  his  officiousness,  yet  not  knowing 


no 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


how  to  contradict  him,  without  the  risk  of  giving  rise  to  scenes 
yet  more  ridiculous. 

Caleb  saw  his  advantage,  and  resolved  to  improve  it.  But 
first,  observing  that  the  Lord  Keeper’s  servant  entered  the 
apartment  and  spoke  apart  with  his  master,  he  took  the  same 
opportunity  to  whisper  a  few  words  into  Ravenswood’s  ear  — 
‘  Haud  your  tongue,  for  heaven’s  sake,  sir  ;  if  it ’s  my  pleasure 
to  hazard  my  soul  in  telling  lees  for  the  honour  of  the  family, 
it ’s  nae  business  o’  yours ;  and  if  ye  let  me  gang  on  quietly, 
I’se  be  moderate  in  my  banquet ;  but  if  ye  contradict  me,  deil 
but  I  dress  ye  a  dinner  fit  for  a  duke  !  ’ 

Ravenswood,  in  fact,  thought  it  would  be  best  to  let  his 
officious  butler  run  on,  who  proceeded  to  enumerate  upon  his 
fingers  —  ‘No  muckle  provision  —  might  hae  served  four  persons 
of  honour,  —  first  course,  capons  in  white  broth  —  roast  kid  — 
bacon  with  reverence;  second  course,  roasted  leveret  —  butter 
crabs  —  a  veal  florentine ;  third  course,  blackcock  —  it’s  black 
eneugh  now  wi’  the  sute  —  plumdamas  —  a  tart  —  a  flam  —  and 
some  nonsense  sweet  things,  and  comfits — and  that’s  a’,’  he 
said,  seeing  the  impatience  of  his  master — ‘that’s  just  a’  was 
o’t  —  forbye  the  apples  and  pears.’ 

Miss  Ashton  had  by  degrees  gathered  her  spirits,  so  far  as 
to  pay  some  attention  to  what  was  going  on ;  and  observing 
the  restrained  impatience  of  Ravenswood,  contrasted  with  the 
peculiar  determination  of  manner  with  which  Caleb  detailed  his 
imaginary  banquet,  the  whole  struck  her  as  so  ridiculous  that, 
despite  every  effort  to  the  contrary,  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  in- 
controllable  laughter,  in  which  she  was  joined  by  her  father, 
though  with  more  moderation,  and  finally  by  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  himself,  though  conscious  that  the  jest  was  at  his 
own  expense.  Their  mirth  —  for  a  scene  which  we  read  with 
little  emotion  often  appears  extremely  ludicrous  to  the  spec¬ 
tators  —  made  the  old  vault  ring  again.  They  ceased  —  they 
renewed  —  they  ceased  —  they  renewed  again  their  shouts  of 
laughter  !  Caleb,  in  the  meantime,  stood  his  ground  with  a 
grave,  angry,  and  scornful  dignity,  which  greatly  enhanced  the 
ridicule  of  the  scene  and  the  mirth  of  the  spectators. 

At  length,  when  the  voices,  and  nearly  the  strength,  of  the 
laughers  were  exhausted,  he  exclaimed,  with  very  little  cere¬ 
mony,  ‘  The  deil ’s  in  the  gentles  !  they  breakfast  sae  lordly,  that 
the  loss  of  the  best  dinner  ever  cook  pat  fingers  to  makes  them 
as  merry  as  if  it  were  the  best  jeest  in  a’  George  Buchanan. 
If  there  was  as  little  in  your  honours’  wames  as  there  is  in  Caleb 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  111 

Balderstone’s,  less  caickling  wad  serve  ye  on  sic  a  gravaminous 
subject/ 

Caleb’s  blunt  expression  of  resentment  again  awakened  the 
mirth  of  the  company,  which,  by  the  way,  he  regarded  not  only 
as  an  aggression  upon  the  dignity  of  the  family,  but  a  special 
contempt  of  the  eloquence  with  which  he  himself  had  summed 
up  the  extent  of  their  supposed  losses.  ‘A  description  of  a 
dinner,’  as  he  said  afterwards  to  Mysie,  ‘that  wad  hae  made  a 
fu’  man  hungry,  and  them  to  sit  there  laughing  at  it !  ’ 

‘  But,’  said  Miss  Ashton,  composing  her  countenance  as  well 
as  she  could,  ‘  are  all  these  delicacies  so  totally  destroyed  that 
no  scrap  can  be  collected  1  ’ 

‘  Collected,  my  leddy  !  what  wad  ye  collect  out  of  the  sute 
and  the  ass  %  Ye  may  gang  down  yoursell,  and  look  into  our 
kitchen  —  the  cookmaid  in  the  trembling  exies  —  the  gude  vivers 
lying  a’  about  —  beef,  capons,  and  white  broth  —  florentine  and 
flams  —  bacon  wi’  reverence  — and  a’  the  sweet  confections  and 
whim- whams  —  ye’ll  see  them  a’,  my  leddy  —  that  is,’  said  he, 
correcting  himself,  ‘  ye  ’ll  no  see  ony  of  them  now,  for  the  cook 
has  soopit  them  up,  as  was  weel  her  part ;  but  ye  ’ll  see  the  white 
broth  where  it  was  spilt.  I  pat  my  fingers  in  it,  and  it  tastes 
as  like  sour  milk  as  ony  thing  else;  if  that  isna  the  effect 
of  thunner,  I  kenna  what  is.  This  gentleman  here  couldna  but 
hear  the  clash  of  our  haill  dishes,  china  and  silver  thegither  'l  ’ 

The  Lord  Keeper’s  domestic,  though  a  statesman’s  attendant, 
and  of  course  trained  to  command  his  countenance  upon  all 
occasions,  was  somewhat  discomposed  by  this  appeal,  to  which 
he  only  answered  by  a  bow. 

‘  I  think,  Mr.  Butler,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  who  began  to 
be  afraid  lest  the  prolongation  of  this  scene  should  at  length 
displease  Ravenswood  —  ‘  I  think  that,  were  you  to  retire  with 
my  servant  Lockhard  —  he  has  travelled,  and  is  quite  accus¬ 
tomed  to  accidents  and  contingencies  of  every  kind,  and  I  hope 
betwixt  you,  you  may  find  out  some  mode  of  supply  at  this 
emergency.’ 

‘  His  honour  kens,’  said  Caleb,  who,  however  hopeless  of 
himself  of  accomplishing  what  was  desirable,  would,  like  the 
high-spirited  elephant,  rather  have  died  in  the  effort  than 
brooked  the  aid  of  a  brother  in  commission  —  ‘  his  honour  kens 
weel  I  need  nae  counsellor,  when  the  honour  of  the  house  is 
concerned.’ 

‘I  should  be  unjust  if  I  denied  it,  Caleb,’  said  his  master; 
‘  but  your  art  lies  chiefly  in  making  apologies,  upon  which  we 


112 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


can  no  more  dine  than  upon  the  bill  of  fare  of  our  thunder- 
blasted  dinner.  Now,  possibly  Mr.  Lockhard’s  talent  may  con¬ 
sist  in  finding  some  substitute  for  that  which  certainly  is  not, 
and  has  in  all  probability  never  been.’ 

‘Your  honour  is  pleased  to  be  facetious/  said  Caleb,  ‘but  I 
am  sure  that,  for  the  warst,  for  a  walk  as  far  as  Wolf’s  Hope, 
I  could  dine  forty  men  —  no  that  the  folk  there  deserve  your 
honour’s  custom.  They  hae  been  ill  advised  in  the  matter  of 
the  duty  eggs  and  butter,  I  winna  deny  that.’ 

‘Do  go  consult  together,’  said  the  Master;  ‘go  down  to  the 
village,  and  do  the  best  you  can.  We  must  not  let  our  guests 
remain  without  refreshment,  to  save  the  honour  of  a  ruined 
family.  And  here,  Caleb,  take  my  purse;  I  believe  that  will 
prove  your  best  ally.’ 

‘  Purse  !  purse,  indeed  !  ’  quoth  Caleb,  indignantly  flinging 
out  of  the  room ;  ‘  what  suld  I  do  wi’  your  honour’s  purse,  on 
your  ain  grund  ?  I  trust  we  are  no  to  pay  for  our  ain  1  ’ 

The  servants  left  the  hall ;  and  the  door  was  no  sooner  shut 
than  the  Lord  Keeper  began  to  apologise  for  the  rudeness  of 
his  mirth ;  and  Lucy  to  hope  she  had  given  no  pain  or  offence 
to  the  kind-hearted  faithful  old  man. 

‘Caleb  and  I  must  both  learn,  madam,  to  undergo  with 
good  humour,  or  at  least  with  patience,  the  ridicule  which 
everywhere  attaches  itself  to  poverty.’ 

‘You  do  yourself  injustice,  Master  of  Ravenswood,  on  my 
word  of  honour,’  answered  his  elder  guest.  ‘  I  believe  I  know 
more  of  your  affairs  than  you  do  yourself,  and  I  hope  to  show 
you  that  I  am  interested  in  them  ;  and  that  —  in  short,  that 
your  prospects  are  better  than  you  apprehend.  In  the  meantime, 
I  can  conceive  nothing  so  respectable  as  the  spirit  which  rises 
above  misfortune,  and  prefers  honourable  privations  to  debt  or 
dependence.’ 

Whether  from  fear  of  offending  the  delicacy  or  awakening 
the  pride  of  the  Master,  the  Lord  Keeper  made  these  allusions 
with  an  appearance  of  fearful  and  hesitating  reserve,  and 
seemed  to  be  afraid  that  he  was  intruding  too  far,  in  venturing 
to  touch,  however  lightly,  upon  such  a  topic,  even  when  the 
Master  had  led  to  it.  In  short,  he  appeared  at  once  pushed  on 
by  his  desire  of  appearing  friendly,  and  held  back  by  the  fear 
of  intrusion.  It  was  no  wonder  that  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
little  acquainted  as  he  then  was  with  life,  should  have  given 
this  consummate  courtier  credit  for  more  sincerity  than  was 
probably  to  be  found  in  a  score  of  his  cast.  He  answered, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


113 


however,  with  reserve,  that  he  was  indebted  to  all  who  might 
think  well  of  him  ;  and,  apologising  to  his  guests,  he  left  the 
hall,  in  order  to  make  such  arrangements  for  their  entertain¬ 
ment  as  circumstances  admitted. 

Upon  consulting  with  old  Mysie,  the  accommodations  for  the 
night  were  easily  completed,  as  indeed  they  admitted  of  little 
choice.  The  Master  surrendered  his  apartment  for  the  use  of 
Miss  Ashton,  and  Mysie,  once  a  person  of  consequence,  dressed 
in  a  black  satin  gown  which  had  belonged  of  yore  to  the  Master’s 
grandmother,  and  had  figured  in  the  court-balls  of  Henrietta 
Maria,  went  to  attend  her  as  lady’s-maid.  He  next  inquired 
after  Bucklaw,  and  understanding  he  was  at  the  change-house 
with  the  huntsmen  and  some  companions,  he  desired  Caleb  to 
call  there,  and  acquaint  him  how  he  was  circumstanced  at 
Wolfs  Crag;  to  intimate  to  him  that  it  would  be  most  con¬ 
venient  if  he  could  find  a  bed  in  the  hamlet,  as  the  elder  guest 
must  necessarily  be  quartered  in  the  secret  chamber,  the  only 
spare  bedroom  which  could  be  made  fit  to  receive  him.  The 
Master  saw  no  hardship  in  passing  the  night  by  the  hall  fire, 
wrapt  in  his  campaign-cloak ;  and  to  Scottish  domestics  of  the 
day,  even  of  the  highest  rank,  nay,  to  young  men  of  family  or 
fashion,  on  any  pinch,  clean  straw,  or  a  dry  hay-loft,  was  always 
held  good  night- quarters. 

For  the  rest,  Lockhard  had  his  master’s  orders  to  bring  some 
venison  from  the  inn,  and  Caleb  was  to  trust  to  his  wits  for 
the  honour  of  his  family.  The  Master,  indeed,  a  second  time 
held  out  his  purse;  but,  as  it  was  in  sight  of  the  strange 
servant,  the  butler  thought  himself  obliged  to  decline  what  his 
fingers  itched  to  clutch.  ‘  Couldna  he  hae  slippit  it  gently 
into  my  hand  ?  ’  said  Caleb ;  ‘  but  his  honour  will  never  learn 
how  to  bear  himsell  in  siccan  cases.’ 

Mysie,  in  the  meantime,  according  to  a  uniform  custom  in 
remote  places  in  Scotland,  offered  the  strangers  the  produce  of 
her  little  dairy,  ‘  while  better  meat  was  getting  ready.’  And 
according  to  another  custom,  not  yet  wholly  in  desuetude,  as 
the  storm  was  now  drifting  off  to  leeward,  the  Master  carried 
the  Keeper  to  the  top  of  his  highest  tower  to  admire  a  wide 
and  waste  extent  of  view,  and  to  ‘weary  for  his  dinner.’ 


VOL.  VIII  —  8 


CHAPTER  XII 


*  Now  dame,’  quoth  he,  *  Je  vous  dis  sans  doute, 

Had  I  nought  of  a  capon  hut  the  liver, 

And  of  your  white  bread  nought  but  a  shiver, 

And  after  that  a  roasted  pigge’s  head 
(But  I  ne  wold  for  me  no  beast  were  dead), 

Then  had  I  with  you  homely  sufferaunce.’ 

Chaucer,  Sumner's  Tale. 

IT  was  not  without  some  secret  misgivings  that  Caleb  set 
out  upon  his  exploratory  expedition.  In  fact,  it  was  at¬ 
tended  with  a  treble  difficulty.  He  dared  not  tell  his 
master  the  offence  which  he  had  that  morning  given  to  Buck- 
law,  just  for  the  honour  of  the  family;  he  dared  not  acknowl¬ 
edge  he  had  been  too  hasty  in  refusing  the  purse  ;  and,  thirdly, 
he  was  somewhat  apprehensive  of  unpleasant  consequences 
upon  his  meeting  Hayston  under  the  impression  of  an  affront, 
and  probably  by  this  time  under  the  influence  also  of  no  small 
quantity  of  brandy. 

Caleb,  to  do  him  justice,  was  as  bold  as  any  lion  where  the 
honour  of  the  family  of  Ravens  wood  was  concerned ;  but  his 
was  that  considerate  valour  which  does  not  delight  in  unneces¬ 
sary  risks.  This,  however,  was  a  secondary  consideration ;  the 
main  point  was  to  veil  the  indigence  of  the  housekeeping  at 
the  castle,  and  to  make  good  his  vaunt  of  the  cheer  which 
his  resources  could  procure,  without  Lockhard’s  assistance,  and 
without  supplies  from  his  master.  This  was  as  prime  a  point 
of  honour  with  him  as  with  the  generous  elephant  with  whom 
we  have  already  compared  him,  who,  being  overtasked,  broke 
his  skull  through  the  desperate  exertions  which  he  made  to  dis¬ 
charge  his  duty,  when  he  perceived  they  were  bringing  up 
another  to  his  assistance. 

The  village  which  they  now  approached  had  frequently  af¬ 
forded  the  distressed  butler  resources  upon  similar  emergen¬ 
cies  ;  but  his  relations  with  it  had  been  of  late  much  altered. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


115 


It  was  a  little  hamlet  which  straggled  along  the  side  of  a 
creek  formed  by  the  discharge  of  a  small  brook  into  the  sea, 
and  was  hidden  from  the  castle,  to  which  it  had  been  in  former 
times  an  appendage,  by  the  intervention  of  the  shoulder  of  a 
hill  forming  a  projecting  headland.  It  was  called  Wolfs  Hope, 
(i.e.  Wolfs  Haven),  and  the  few  inhabitants  gained  a  precarious 
subsistence  by  manning  two  or  three  fishing-boats  in  the  herring 
season,  and  smuggling  gin  and  brandy  during  the  winter  months. 
They  paid  a  kind  of  hereditary  respect  to  the  Lords  of  Ravens- 
wood  ;  but,  in  the  difficulties  of  the  family,  most  of  the  inhabit¬ 
ants  of  W olf  s  Hope  had  contrived  to  get  feu-rights 1  to  their 
little  possessions,  their  huts,  kail-yards,  and  rights  of  commonty, 
so  that  they  were  emancipated  from  the  chains  of  feudal  de¬ 
pendence,  and  free  from  the  various  exactions  with  which, 
under  every  possible  pretext,  or  without  any  pretext  at  all,  the 
Scottish  landlords  of  the  period,  themselves  in  great  poverty, 
wrere  wont  to  harass  their  still  poorer  tenants  at  will.  They 
might  be,  on  the  whole,  termed  independent,  a  circumstance 
peculiarly  galling  to  Caleb,  who  had  been  wont  to  exercise  over 
them  the  same  sweeping  authority  in  levying  contributions 
which  was  exercised  in  former  times  in  England,  when  ‘the 
royal  purveyors,  sallying  forth  from  under  the  Gothic  portcullis 
to  purchase  provisions  with  power  and  prerogative,  instead  of 
money,  brought  home  the  plunder  of  an  hundred  markets,  and 
all  that  could  be  seized  from  a  flying  and  hiding  country,  and 
deposited  their  spoil  in  a  hundred  caverns.’ 2 

Caleb  loved  the  memory  and  resented  the  downfall  of  that 
authority,  which  mimicked,  on  a  petty  scale,  the  grand  contri¬ 
butions  exacted  by  the  feudal  sovereigns.  And  as  he  fondly 
flattered  himself  that  the  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy,  which 
assigned  to  the  Barons  of  Ravenswood  the  first  and  most 
effective  interest  in  all  productions  of  nature  within  five  miles 
of  their  castle,  only  slumbered,  and  was  not  departed  for  ever, 
he  used  every  now  and  then  to  give  the  recollection  of  the 
inhabitants  a  little  jog  by  some  petty  exaction.  These  were  at 
first  submitted  to,  with  more  or  less  readiness,  by  the  inhabitants 
of  the  hamlet ;  for  they  had  been  so  long  used  to  consider  the 
wants  of  the  Baron  and  his  family  as  having  a  title  to  be  pre¬ 
ferred  to  their  own,  that  their  actual  independence  did  not  convey 
to  them  an  immediate  sense  of  freedom.  They  resembled  a 


1  That  is,  absolute  rights  of  property  for  the  payment  of  a  sum  annu* 
ally,  which  is  usually  a  trifle  in  such  cases  as  are  alluded  to  in  the  text, 

2  Burke's  Speech  on  Economical  Reform:  Works,  vol.  iii.  p.  250. 


116 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


man  that  has  been  long  fettered,  who,  even  at  liberty,  feels  in 
imagination  the  grasp  of  the  handcuffs  still  binding  his  wrists. 
But  the  exercise  of  freedom  is  quickly  followed  with  the  natural 
consciousness  of  its  immunities,  as  an  enlarged  prisoner,  by  the 
free  use  of  his  limbs,  soon  dispels  the  cramped  feeling  they  had 
acquired  when  bound. 

The  inhabitants  of  Wolfs  Hope  began  to  grumble,  to  resist, 
and  at  length  positively  to  refuse  compliance  with  the  exactions 
of  Caleb  Balderstone.  It  was  in  vain  he  reminded  them,  that 
when  the  eleventh  Lord  Ravenswood,  called  the  Skipper,  from 
his  delight  in  naval  matters,  had  encouraged  the  trade  of  their 
port  by  building  the  pier  (a  bulwark  of  stones  rudely  piled 
together),  which  protected  the  fishing-boats  from  the  weather, 
it  had  been  matter  of  understanding  that  he  was  to  have  the 
first  stone  of  butter  after  the  calving  of  every  cow  within  the 
barony,  and  the  first  egg,  thence  called  the  Monday’s  egg,  laid 
by  every  hen  on  every  Monday  in  the  year. 

The  feuars  heard  and  scratched  their  heads,  coughed,  sneezed, 
and  being  pressed  for  answer,  rejoined  with  one  voice,  ‘They 
could  not  say  ’  —  the  universal  refuge  of  a  Scottish  peasant 
when  pressed  to  admit  a  claim  which  his  conscience  owns,  or 
perhaps  his  feelings,  and  his  interest  inclines  him  to  deny. 

Caleb,  however,  furnished  the  notables  of  Wolfs  Hope  with  a 
note  of  the  requisition  of  butter  and  eggs,  which  he  claimed  as 
arrears  of  the  aforesaid  subsidy,  or  kindly  aid,  payable  as  above 
mentioned  ;  and  having  intimated  that  he  would  not  be  averse 
to  compound  the  same  for  goods  or  money,  if  it  was  incon¬ 
venient  to  them  to  pay  in  kind,  left  them,  as  he  hoped,  to  debate 
the  mode  of  assessing  themselves  for  that  purpose.  On  the 
contrary,  they  met  with  a  determined  purpose  of  resisting  the 
exaction,  and  were  only  undecided  as  to  the  mode  of  grounding 
their  opposition,  when  the  cooper,  a  very  important  person  on  a 
fishing -station,  and  one  of  the  conscript  fathers  of  the  village, 
observed,  ‘  That  their  hens  had  caickled  mony  a  day  for  the 
Lords  of  Ravenswood,  and  it  was  time  they  suld  caickle  for 
those  that  gave  them  roosts  and  barley.’  A  unanimous  grin 
intimated  the  assent  of  the  assembly.  ‘And,’  continued  the 
orator,  ‘  if  it ’s  your  wull,  I  ’ll  just  tak  a  step  as  far  as  Dunse  for 
Davie  Dingwall,  the  writer,  that’s  come  frae  the  North  to  settle 
amang  us,  and  he  ’ll  pit  this  job  to  rights,  I’se  warrant  him.’ 

A  day  was  accordingly  fixed  for  holding  a  grand  palaver  at 
Wolfs  Hope  on  the  subject  of  Caleb’s  requisitions,  and  he  was 
invited  to  attend  at  the  hamlet  for  that  purpose. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


117 


He  went  with  open  hands  and  empty  stomach,  trusting  to 
fill  the  one  on  his  master’s  account  and  the  other  on  his  own 
score,  at  the  expense  of  the  feuars  of  Wolf’s  Hope.  But,  death 
to  his  hopes !  as  he  entered  the  eastern  end  of  the  straggling 
village,  the  awful  form  of  Davie  Dingwall,  a  sly,  dry,  hard-fisted, 
shrewd  country  attorney,  who  had  already  acted  against  the 
family  of  Ravens  wood,  and  was  a  principal  agent  of  Sir  William 
Ashton,  trotted  in  at  the  western  extremity,  bestriding  a 
leathern  portmanteau  stuffed  with  the  feu-charters  of  the 
hamlet,  and  hoping  he  had  not  kept  Mr.  Balderstone  waiting, 

‘  as  he  was  instructed  and  fully  empowered  to  pay  or  receive, 
compound  or  compensate,  and,  in  fine,  to  agd1  as  accords,  re¬ 
specting  all  mutual  and  unsettled  claims  whatsoever,  belonging 
or  competent  to  the  Honourable  Edgar  Ravenswood,  commonly 
called  the  Master  of  Ravenswood - ’ 

‘  The  Right  Honourable  Edgar  Lord  Ravenswood ,’  said  Caleb, 

,  with  great  emphasis ;  for,  though  conscious  he  had  little  chance 
of  advantage  in  the  conflict  to  ensue,  he  was  resolved  not  to 
sacrifice  one  jot  of  honour. 

‘Lord  Ravenswood,  then,’  said  the  man  of  business  —  ‘we 
shall  not  quarrel  with  you  about  titles  of  courtesy  —  commonly 
called  Lord  Ravenswood,  or  Master  of  Ravenswood,  heritable 
proprietor  of  the  lands  and  barony  of  Wolfs  Crag,  on  the  one 
part,  and  to  John  Whitefish  and  others,  feuars  in  the  town  of 
Wolfs  Hope,  within  the  barony  aforesaid,  on  the  other  part.’ 

Caleb  was  conscious,  from  sad  experience,  that  he  would 
wage  a  very  different  strife  with  this  mercenary  champion  than 
with  the  individual  feuars  themselves,  upon  whose  old  recollec¬ 
tions,  predilections,  and  habits  of  thinking  he  might  have 
wrought  by  a  hundred  indirect  arguments,  to  which  their 
deputy-representative  was  totally  insensible.  The  issue  of  the 
debate  proved  the  reality  of  his  apprehensions.  It  was  in  vain 
he  strained  his  eloquence  and  ingenuity,  and  collected  into  one 
mass  all  arguments  arising  from  antique  custom  and  hereditary 
respect,  from  the  good  deeds  done  by  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood 
to  the  community  of  Wolfs  Hope  in  former  days,  and  from 
what  might  be  expected  from  them  in  future.  The  writer 
stuck  to  the  contents  of  his  feu-charters ;  he  could  not  see  it : 
’t  was  not  in  the  bond.  And  when  Caleb,  determined  to  try 
what  a  little  spirit  would  do,  deprecated  the  consequences  of 
Lord  Ravenswood’s  withdrawing  his  protection  from  the  burgh, 


1  i.  e..  To  act  as  may  be  necessary  and  legal :  a  Scottish  law  phrase. 


118 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  even  hinted  at  his  using  active  measures  of  resentment, 
the  man  of  law  sneered  in  his  face. 

‘His  clients/  he  said,  ‘had  determined  to  do  the  best  they 
could  for  their  own  town,  and  he  thought  Lord  Ravenswood, 
since  he  was  a  lord,  might  have  enough  to  do  to  look  after  his 
own  castle.  As  to  any  threats  of  stouthrief  oppression,  by  rule 
of  thumb,  or  via  facti ,  as  the  law  termed  it,  he  would  have  Mr. 
Balderstone  recollect,  that  new  times  were  not  as  old  times  ; 
that  they  lived  on  the  south  of  the  Forth,  and  far  from  the 
Highlands ;  that  his  clients  thought  they  were  able  to  protect 
themselves;  but  should  they  find  themselves  mistaken,  they 
would  apply  to  the  government  for  the  protection  of  a  corporal 
and  four  red-coats,  who/  said  Mr.  Dingwall,  with  a  grin,  ‘  would 
be  perfectly  able  to  secure  them  against  Lord  Ravenswood,  and 
all  that  he  or  his  followers  could  do  by  the  strong  hand.’ 

If  Caleb  could  have  concentrated  all  the  lightnings  of  aris¬ 
tocracy  in  his  eye,  to  have  struck  dead  this  contemner  of  alle¬ 
giance  and  privilege,  he  would  have  launched  them  at  his  head, 
without  respect  to  the  consequences.  As  it  was,  he  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  turn  his  course  backward  to  the  castle ;  and  there  he 
remained  for  full  half  a  day  invisible  and  inaccessible  even  to 
Mysie,  sequestered  in  his  own  peculiar  dungeon,  where  he  sat 
burnishing  a  single  pewter  plate  and  whistling  ‘  Maggie  Lauder  ’ 
six  hours  without  intermission. 

The  issue  of  this  unfortunate  requisition  had  shut  against 
Caleb  all  resources  which  could  be  derived  from  Wolfs  Hope 
and  its  purlieus,  the  El  Dorado,  or  Peru,  from  which,  in  all 
former  cases  of  exigence,  he  had  been  able  to  extract  some 
assistance.  He  had,  indeed,  in  a  manner  vowed  that  the  deil 
should  have  him,  if  ever  he  put  the  print  of  his  foot  within  its 
causeway  again.  He  had  hitherto  kept  his  word  ;  and,  strange 
to  tell,  this  secession  had,  as  he  intended,  in  some  degree,  the 
effect  of  a  punishment  upon  the  refractory  feuars.  Mr.  Balder- 
stone  had  been  a  person  in  their  eyes  connected  with  a  superior 
order  of  beings,  whose  presence  used  to  grace  their  little  festivi¬ 
ties,  whose  advice  they  found  useful  on  many  occasions,  and 
whose  communications  gave  a  sort  of  credit  to  their  village. 
The  place,  they  acknowledged,  ‘  didna  look  as  it  used  to  do, 
and  should  do,  since  Mr.  Caleb  keepit  the  castle  sae  closely ; 
but  doubtless,  touching  the  eggs  and  butter,  it  was  a  most  un¬ 
reasonable  demand,  as  Mr.  Dingwall  had  justly  made  manifest.’ 

Thus  stood  matters  betwixt  the  parties,  when  the  old  butler, 
though  it  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  him,  found  himself  obliged 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


119 


either  to  acknowledge  before  a  strange  man  of  quality,  and, 
what  was  much  worse,  before  that  stranger’s  servant,  the  total 
inability  of  Wolfs  Crag  to  produce  a  dinner,  or  he  must  trust 
to  the  compassion  of  the  feuars  of  Wolfs  Hope.  It  was  a 
dreadful  degradation ;  but  necessity  was  equally  imperious  and 
lawless.  With  these  feelings  he  entered  the  street  of  the  village. 

Willing  to  shake  himself  from  his  companion  as  soon  as 
possible,  he  directed  Mr.  Lockhard  to  Luckie  Sma’trash’s 
change-house,  where  a  din,  proceeding  from  the  revels  of 
Bucklaw,  Craigengelt,  and  their  party,  sounded  half-way  down 
the  street,  while  the  red  glare  from  the  window  overpowered 
the  grey  twilight  which  was  now  settling  down,  and  glimmered 
against  a  parcel  of  old  tubs,  kegs,  and  barrels,  piled  up  in  the 
cooper’s  yard,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way. 

‘  If  you,  Mr.  Lockhard,’  said  the  old  butler  to  his  companion, 

‘  will  be  pleased  to  step  to  the  change-house  where  that  light 
comes  from,  and  where,  as  I  judge,  they  are  now  singing 
“  Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdeen,”  ye  may  do  your  master’s  errand 
about  the  venison,  and  I  will  do  mine  about  Bucklaw’s  bed,  as 
I  return  frae  getting  the  rest  of  the  vivers.  It ’s  no  that  the 
venison  is  actually  needfu’,’  he  added,  detaining  his  colleague 
by  the  button,  ‘  to  make  up  the  dinner ;  but  as  a  compliment 
to  the  hunters,  ye  ken ;  and,  Mr.  Lockhard,  if  they  offer  ye  a 
drink  o’  yill,  or  a  cup  o’  wine,  or  a  glass  o’  brandy,  ye  ’ll  be  a 
wise  man  to  take  it,  in  case  the  thunner  should  hae  soured  ours 
at  the  castle,  whilk  is  ower  muckle  to  be  dreaded.’ 

He  then  permitted  Lockhard  to  depart ;  and  with  foot  heavy 
as  lead,  and  yet  far  lighter  than  his  heart,  stepped  on  through 
the  unequal  street  of  the  straggling  village,  meditating  on  whom 
he  ought  to  make  his  first  attack.  It  was  necessary  he  should 
find  some  one  with  whom  old  acknowledged  greatness  should 
weigh  more  than  recent  independence,  and  to  whom  his  appli¬ 
cation  might  appear  an  act  of  high  dignity,  relenting  at  once 
and  soothing.  But  he  could  not  recollect  an  inhabitant  of  a 
mind  so  constructed.  ‘  Our  kail  is  like  to  be  cauld  eneugh  too,’ 
he  reflected,  as  the  chorus  of  ‘  Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdeen  ’  again 
reached  his  ears.  The  minister  —  he  had  got  his  presentation 
from  the  late  lord,  but  they  had  quarrelled  about  teinds  ;  the 
brewster’s  wife  —  she  had  trusted  long,  and  the  bill  was  aye 
scored  up,  and  unless  the  dignity  of  the  family  should  actually 
require  it,  it  would  be  a  sin  to  distress  a  widow  woman.  None 
was  so  able  —  but,  on  the  other  hand,  none  was  likely  to  be  less 
willing  —  to  stand  his  friend  upon  the  present  occasion,  than 


120 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


Gibbie  Girder,  the  man  of  tubs  and  barrels  already  mentioned, 
who  had  headed  the  insurrection  in  the  matter  of  the  egg  and 
butter  subsidy.  ‘  But  a’  comes  o’  taking  folk  on  the  right  side, 
I  trow,’  quoth  Caleb  to  himself ;  ‘and  I  had  ance  the  ill  hap  to 
say  he  was  but  a  Johnny  New-come  in  our  town,  and  the  carle 
bore  the  family  an  ill-will  ever  since.  But  he  married  a  bonny 
young  quean,  Jean  Lightbody,  auld  Lightbody’s  daughter,  him 
that  was  in  the  steading  of  Loup-the-Dyke ;  and  auld  Light- 
body  was  married  himsell  to  Marion,  that  was  about  my  lady 
in  the  family  forty  years  syne.  I  hae  had  mony  a  day’s  daffing 
wi’  Jean’s  mither,  and  they  say  she  bides  on  wi’  them.  The  carle 
has  Jacobuses  and  Georgiuses  baith,  an  ane  could  get  at  them  ; 
and  sure  I  am,  it  ’s  doing  him  an  honour  him  or  his  never 
deserved  at  our  hand,  the  ungracious  sumph ;  and  if  he  loses 
by  us  a’thegither,  he  is  e’en  cheap  o’t :  he  can  spare  it  brawly.’ 

Shaking  off  irresolution,  therefore,  and  turning  at  once  upon 
his-  heel,  Caleb  walked  hastily  back  to  the  cooper’s  house,  lifted 
the  latch  without  ceremony,  and,  in  a  moment,  found  himself 
behind  the  ‘  hallan  ’  or  partition,  from  which  position  he  could, 
himself  unseen,  reconnoitre  the  interior  of  the  ‘but,’  or  kitchen 
apartment,  of  the  mansion. 

Reverse  of  the  sad  menage  at  the  Castle  of  Wolfs  Crag,  a 
bickering  fire  roared  up  the  cooper’s  chimney.  His  wife,  on  the 
one  side,  in  her  pearlings  and  pudding-sleeves,  put  the  last 
finishing  touch  to  her  holiday’s  apparel,  while  she  contemplated 
a  very  handsome  and  good-humoured  face  in  a  broken  mirror, 
raised  upon  the  ‘  bink  ’  (the  shelves  on  which  the  plates  are  dis¬ 
posed)  for  her  special  accommodation.  Her  mother,  old  Luckie 
Loup-the-Dyke,  ‘  a  canty  carline  ’  as  was  within  twenty  miles  of 
her,  according  to  the  unanimous  report  of  the  ‘cummers,’  or 
gossips,  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  full  glory  of  a  grogram  gown, 
lammer  beads,  and  a  clean  cockernony,  whiffing  a  snug  pipe  of 
tobacco,  and  superintending  the  affairs  of  the  kitchen ;  for  — 
sight  more  interesting  to  the  anxious  heart  and  craving  entrails 
of  the  desponding  seneschal  than  either  buxom  dame  or  canty 
cummer  —  there  bubbled  on  the  aforesaid  bickering  fire  a  huge 
pot,  or  rather  cauldron,  steaming  with  beef  and  brewis  ;  while 
before  it  revolved  two  spits,  turned  each  by  one  of  the  cooper’s 
apprentices,  seated  in  the  opposite  corners  of  the  chimney,  the 
one  loaded  with  a  quarter  of  mutton,  while  the  other  was 
graced  with  a  fat  goose  and  a  brace  of  wild  ducks.  The  sight 
and  scent  of  such  a  land  of  plenty  almost  wholly  overcame  the 
drooping  spirits  of  Caleb.  He  turned,  for  a  moment’s  space,  to 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


121 


reconnoitre  the  ‘  ben,  ’  or  parlour  end  of  the  house,  and  there  saw 
a  sight  scarce  less  affecting  to  his  feelings  —  a  large  round  table, 
covered  for  ten  or  twelve  persons,  decored  (according  to  his  own 
favourite  term)  with  napery  as  white  as  snow,  grand  flagons 
of  pewter,  intermixed  with  one  or  two  silver  cups,  containing, 
as  was  probable,  something  worthy  the  brilliancy  of  their  out¬ 
ward  appearance,  clean  trenchers,  cutty  spoons,  knives  and 
forks,  sharp,  burnished,  and  prompt  for  action,  which  lay  all 
displayed  as  for  an  especial  festival. 

‘  The  devil ’s  in  the  peddling  tub-coopering  carle  !  ’  muttered 
Caleb,  in  all  the  envy  of  astonishment ;  ‘  it ’s  a  shame  to  see  the 
like  o’  them  gusting  their  gabs  at  sic  a  rate.  But  if  some  o’ 
that  gude  cheer  does  not  find  its  way  to  W olf’s  Crag  this  night, 
my  name  is  not  Caleb  Balderstone.’ 

So  resolving,  he  entered  the  apartment,  and,  in  all  courteous 
greeting,  saluted  both  the  mother  and  the  daughter.  Wolfs 
Crag  was  the  court  of  the  barony,  Caleb  prime  minister  at 
Wolf’s  Crag  ;  and  it  has  ever  been  remarked  that,  though  the 
masculine  subject  who  pays  the  taxes  sometimes  growls  at  the 
courtiers  by  whom  they  are  imposed,  the  said  courtiers  con¬ 
tinue,  nevertheless,  welcome  to  the  fair  sex,  to  whom  they 
furnish  the  newest  small-talk  and  the  earliest  fashions.  Both 
the  dames  were,  therefore,  at  once  about  old  Caleb’s  neck,  set¬ 
ting  up  their  throats  together  by  way  of  welcome. 

‘  Ay,  sirs,  Mr.  Balderstone,  and  is  this  you  ?  A  sight  of  you 
is  gude  for  sair  een.  Sit  down  —  sit  down ;  the  gu deman  will 
be  blithe  to  see  you  —  ye  nar  saw  him  sae  cadgy  in  your  life ; 
but  we  are  to  christen  our  bit  wean  the  night,  as  ye  will  hae 
heard,  and  doubtless  ye  will  stay  and  see  the  ordinance.  We 
hae  killed  a  wether,  and  ane  o’  our  lads  has  been  out  wi’  his 
gun  at  the  moss ;  ye  used  to  like  wild-fowl.’ 

‘Na,  na,  gudewife,’  said  Caleb;  ‘I  just  keekit  in  to  wish 
ye  joy,  and  I  wad  be  glad  to  hae  spoken  wi’  the  gudeman, 
but - ’  moving,  as  if  to  go  away. 

‘  The  ne’er  a  fit  ye ’s  gang,’  said  the  elder  dame,  laughing 
and  holding  him  fast,  with  a  freedom  which  belonged  to  their 
old  acquaintance ;  ‘  wha  kens  what  ill  it  may  bring  to  the 
bairn,  if  ye  owerlook  it  in  that  gate  1  ’ 

‘ But  I’m  in  a  preceese  hurry,  gudewife,’  said  the  butler, 
suffering  himself  to  be  dragged  to  a  seat  without  much  resist¬ 
ance ;  ‘and  as  to  eating,’  for  he  observed  the  mistress  of  the 
dwelling  bustling  about  to  place  a  trencher  for  him  —  ‘  as  for 
eating  —  lack-a-day,  we  are  just  killed  up  yonder  wi’  eating 


122 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


frae  morning  to  night !  It ’s  shamefu’  epicurism ;  but  that ’s 
what  we  hae  gotten  frae  the  English  pock-puddings.’ 

‘Hout,  never  mind  the  English  pock-puddings,’  said  Luckie 
Lightbody ;  ‘  try  our  puddings,  Mr.  Balderstone ;  there  is 
black  pudding  and  white-hass ;  try  whilk  ye  like  best.’ 

‘  Baith  gude  —  baith  excellent  —  canna  be  better  ;  but  the 
very  smell  is  eneugh  for  me  that  hae  dined  sae  lately  (the 
faithful  wretch  had  fasted  since  daybreak).  But  I  wadna 
affront  your  housewifeskep,  gudewife;  and,  with  your  per¬ 
mission,  I’se  e’en  pit  them  in  my  napkin,  and  eat  them  to  my 
supper  at  e’en,  for  I  am  wearied  of  Mysie’s  pastry  and  non¬ 
sense  ;  ye  ken  landward  dainties  aye  pleased  me  best,  Marion, 
and  landward  lasses  too  (looking  at  the  cooper’s  wife).  Ne’er 
a  bit  but  she  looks  far  better  than  when  she  married  Gilbert, 
and  then  she  was  the  bonniest  lass  in  our  parochine  and  the 
neist  till ’t.  But  gawsie  cow,  goodly  calf.’ 

The  women  smiled  at  the  compliment  each  to  herself,  and 
they  smiled  again  to  each  other  as  Caleb  wrapt  up  the  puddings 
in  a  towel  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  as  a  dragoon  carries 
his  foraging  bag  to  receive  what  may  fall  in  his  way. 

‘  And  what  news  at  the  castle  'l  ’  quo’  the  gudewife. 

‘  News  !  The  bravest  news  ye  ever  heard  —  the  Lord  Keep¬ 
er ’s  up  yonder  wi’  his  fair  daughter,  just  ready  to  fling  her 
at  my  lord’s  head,  if  he  winna  tak  her  out  o’  his  arms ;  and 
I’se  warrant  he  ’ll  stitch  our  auld  lands  of  Ravenswood  to  her 
petticoat  tail.’ 

‘  Eh  !  sirs  —  ay  !  —  and  will  he  hae  her  ?  and  is  she  weel- 
favoured  ?  and  what ’s  the  colour  o’  her  hair  ?  and  does  she 
wear  a  habit  or  a  railly  ?  ’  were  the  questions  which  the  females 
showered  upon  the  butler. 

‘  Hout  tout !  it  wad  tak  a  man  a  day  to  answer  a’  your 
questions,  and  I  hae  hardly  a  minute.  Where ’s  the  gude- 
man  ?  ’ 

‘Awa’  to  fetch  the  minister,’  said  Mrs.  Girder,  ‘precious  Mr. 
Peter  Bide-the-Bent,  frae  the  Mosshead ;  the  honest  man  has 
the  rheumatism  wi’  lying  in  the  hills  in  the  persecution.’ 

‘  Ay !  a  Whig  and  a  mountain-man,  nae  less !  ’  said  Caleb, 
with  a  peevishness  he  could  not  suppress.  ‘  I  hae  seen  the  day, 
Luckie,  when  worthy  Mr.  Cuffcushion  and  the  service-book 
would  hae  served  your  turn  (to  the  elder  dame),  or  ony  honest 
woman  in  like  circumstances.’ 

‘And  that’s  true  too,’  said  Mrs.  Lightbody,  ‘but  what  can 
a  body  do  ?  Jean  maun  baith  sing  her  psalms  and  busk  her 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


123 


cockernony  the  gate  the  gudeman  likes,  and  nae  ither  gate  ;  for 
he ’s  maister  and  mair  at  hame,  I  can  tell  ye,  Mr.  Balderstone.’ 

‘  Ay,  ay,  and  does  he  guide  the  gear  too  ? 5  said  Caleb,  to 
whose  projects  masculine  rule  boded  little  good. 

‘  Ilka  penny  on  t ;  but  he  ’ll  dress  her  as  dink  as  a  daisy,  as 
ye  see ;  sae  she  has  little  reason  to  complain  :  where  there ’s 
ane  better  aff  there ’s  ten  waur.’ 

‘Aweel,  giidewife,’  said  Caleb,  crestfallen,  but  not  beaten 
olf,  ‘  that  wasna  the  way  ye  guided  your  gudeman ;  but  ilka 
land  has  its  ain  lauch.  I  maun  be  ganging.  I  just  wanted 
to  round  in  the  gudeman’s  lug,  that  I  heard  them  say  up-bye 
yonder  that  Peter  Puncheon,  that  was  cooper  to  the  Queen’s 
stores  at  the  Timmer  Burse  at  Leith,  is  dead ;  sae  I  thought 
that  maybe  a  word  frae  my  lord  to  the  Lord  Keeper  might  hae 
served  Gilbert ;  but  since  he ’s  ffae  hame - ’ 

‘  0,  but  ye  maun  stay  his  hame-coming,’  said  the  dame.  ‘I 
aye  telled  the  gudeman  ye  meant  weel  to  him  ;  but  he  taks  the 
tout  at  every  bit  lippening  word.’ 

‘  Aweel,  I  ’ll  stay  the  last  minute  I  can.’ 

‘And  so,’  said  the  handsome  young  spouse  of  Mr.  Girder, 

‘  ye  think  this  Miss  Ashton  is  weel- favoured  ?  Troth,  and  sae 
should  she,  to  set  up  for  our  young  lord,  with  a  face  and  a 
hand,  and  a  seat  on  his  horse,  that  might  become  a  king’s  son. 
D’  ye  ken  that  he  aye  glowers  up  at  my  window,  Mr.  Balder- 
stone,  when  he  chances  to  ride  thro’  the  town?  Sae  I  hae  a 
right  to  ken  what  like  he  is,  as  weel  as  ony  body.’ 

‘I  ken  that  brawly,’  said  Caleb,  ‘for  I  hae  heard  his  lord- 
ship  say  the  cooper’s  wife  had  the  blackest  ee  in  the  barony ; 
and  I  said,  “  Weel  may  that  be,  my  lord,  for  it  was  her  mither’s 
afore  her,  as  I  ken  to  my  cost.”  Eh,  Marion?  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Ah  !  these  were  merry  days  !  ’ 

‘Hout  awa’,  auld  carle,’  said  the  old  dame,  ‘to  speak  sic 
daffing  to  young  folk.  But,  Jean  —  fie,  woman,  dinna  ye  hear 
the  bairn  greet  ?  I’se  warrant  it ’s  that  dreary  weid 1  has  come 
ower  ’t  again.’ 

Up  got  mother  and  grandmother,  and  scoured  away,  jostling 
each  other  as  they  ran,  into  some  remote  corner  of  the  tene¬ 
ment,  where  the  young  hero  of  the  evening  was  deposited. 
When  Caleb  saw  the  coast  fairly  clear,  he  took  an  invigorating 
pinch  of  snuff,  to  sharpen  and  confirm  his  resolution. 

‘  Cauld  be  my  cast,’  thought  he,  ‘if  either  Bide-the-Bent  or 
Girder  taste  that  broche  of  wild-fowl  this  evening  ’ ;  and  then 

1  Weid,  a  feverish  cold ;  a  disorder  incident  to  infants  and  to  females, 
is  so  called. 


124 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


addressing  the  eldest  turnspit,  a  boy  of  about  eleven  years  old, 
and  putting  a  penny  into  bis  hand,  he  said,  ‘  Here  is  twal 
pennies,1  my  man ;  carry  that  ower  to  Mrs.  Sma’trash,  and  bid 
her  fill  my  mill  wi’  snisbing,  and  1 11  turn  the  brocbe  for  ye  in 
the  meantime;  and  she  will  gie  ye  a  ginger-bread  snap  for 
your  pains.’ 

No  sooner  was  the  elder  boy  departed  on  this  mission  than 
Caleb,  looking  the  remaining  turnspit  gravely  and  steadily  in 
the  face,  removed  from  the  fire  the  spit  bearing  the  wild-fowl 
of  which  be  bad  undertaken  the  charge,  clapped  bis  hat  on  bis 
bead,  and  fairly  marched  off  with  it.  He  stopped  at  the  door 
of  the  change-house  only  to  say,  in  a  few  brief  words,  that  Mr. 
Ilayston  of  Bucklaw  was  not  to  expect  a  bed  that  evening  in 
the  castle.  \ 

If  this  message  was  too  briefly  delivered  by  Caleb,  it  became 
absolute  rudeness  when  conveyed  through  the  medium  of  a 
suburb  landlady ;  and  Bucklaw  was,  as  a  more  calm  and  tem¬ 
perate  man  might  have  been,  highly  incensed.  Captain  Craigen- 
gelt  proposed,  with  the  unanimous  applause  of  all  present,  that 
they  should  course  the  old  fox  (meaning  Caleb)  ere  he  got  to 
cover,  and  toss  him  in  a  blanket.  But  Lockhard  intimated  to 
his  master’s  servants  and  those  of  Lord  Bittlebrains,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  that  the  slightest  impertinence  to  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood’s  domestic  would  give  Sir  William  Ashton  the 
highest  offence.  And  having  so  said,  in  a  manner  sufficient  to 
prevent  any  aggression  on  their  part,  he  left  the  public-house, 
taking  along  with  him  two  servants  loaded  with  such  provisions 
as  he  had  been  able  to  procure,  and  overtook  Caleb  just  when 
he  had  cleared  the  village. 


1  Monetae  Scoticse,  scilicet. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


Should  I  take  aught  of  you  ?  ’T  is  true  I  begged  now  ; 
Aud  what  is  worse  than  that,  I  stole  a  kindness ; 

And,  what  is  worst  of  all,  I  lost  my  way  in ’t. 

Wit  without  Money. 


THE  face  of  the  little  boy,  sole  witness  of  Caleb’s  in¬ 
fringement  upon  the  laws  at  once  of  property  and 
hospitality,  would  have  made  a  good  picture.  He  sat 
motionless,  as  if  he  had  witnessed  some  of  the  spectral  appear¬ 
ances  which  he  had  heard  told  of  in  a  winter’s  evening ;  and  as 
he  forgot  his  own  duty,  and  allowed  his  spit  to  stand  still,  he 
added  to  the  misfortunes  of  the  evening  by  suffering  the  mutton 
to  burn  as  black  as  coal.  He  was  first  recalled  from  his  trance 
of  astonishment  by  a  hearty  cuff  administered  by  Dame  Light- 
body,  who,  in  whatever  other  respects  she  might  conform  to  her 
name,  was  a  woman  strong  of  person,  and  expert  in  the  use  of 
her  hands,  as  some  say  her  deceased  husband  had  known  to  his 
cost. 

‘  What  garr’d  ye  let  the  roast  burn,  ye  ill-cleckit  gude-for- 
nought  'l  ’ 

‘  I  dinna  ken,’  said  the  boy. 

‘  And  where ’s  that  ill-deedy  gett,  Giles  ?  ’ 

‘I  dinna  ken,’  blubbered  the  astonished  declarant. 

‘  And  where ’s  Mr.  Balderstone  1  —  and  abune  a’,  and  in  the 
name  of  council  and  kirk-session,  that  I  suld  say  sae,  where ’s 
the  broche  wi’  the  wild-fowl  ?  ’ 

As  Mrs.  Girder  here  entered,  and  joined  her  mother’s  ex¬ 
clamations,  screaming  into  one  ear  while  the  old  lady  deafened 
the  other,  they  succeeded  in  so  utterly  confounding  the  un¬ 
happy  urchin,  that  he  could  not  for  some  time  tell  his  story 
at  all,  and  it  was  only  when  the  elder  boy  returned  that  the 
truth  began  to  dawn  on  their  minds. 

‘  Weel,  sirs  !  ’  said  Mrs.  Lightbody,  ‘  wha  wad  hae  thought  o’ 
Caleb  Balderstone  playing  an  auld  acquaintance  sic  a  pliskie  !  ’ 

‘  0,  weary  on  him  !  ’  said  the  spouse  of  Mr.  Girder ;  ‘  and 


126 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


what  am  I  to  say  to  the  gudeman  1  He  ’ll  brain  me,  if  there 
wasna  anither  woman  in  a’  Wolfs  Hope.’ 

‘Hout  tout,  silly  quean,’  said  the  mother;  ‘na,  na,  it’s 
come  to  muckle,  but  it ’s  no  come  to  that  neither ;  for  an  he 
brain  you  he  maun  brain  me,  and  I  have  garr’d  his  betters 
stand  back.  Hands  aff  is  fair  play  ;  we  maunna  heed  a  bit 
flyting.’ 

The  tramp  of  horses  now  announced  the  arrival  of  the  cooper, 
with  the  minister.  They  had  no  sooner  dismounted  than  they 
made  for  the  kitchen  fire,  for  the  evening  was  cool  after  the 
thunderstorm,  and  the  woods  wet  and  dirty.  The  young  gude- 
wife,  strong  in  the  charms  of  her  Sunday  gown  and  biggonets, 
threw  herself  in  the  way  of  receiving  the  first  attack,  while  her 
mother,  like  the  veteran  division  of  the  Roman  legion,  remained 
in  the  rear,  ready  to  support  her  in  case  of  necessity.  Both 
hoped  to  protract  the  discovery  of  what  had  happened  —  the 
mother,  by  interposing  her  bustling  person  betwixt  Mr.  Girder 
and  the  fire,  and  the  daughter,  by  the  extreme  cordiality  with 
which  she  received  the  minister  and  her  husband,  and  the 
anxious  fears  which  she  expressed  lest  they  should  have  ‘  gotten 
cauld.’ 

‘  Cauld  !  ’  quoth  the  husband,  surlily,  for  he  was  not  of  that 
class  of  lords  and  masters  whose  wives  are  viceroys  over  them, 
‘  we  ’ll  be  cauld  eneugh,  I  think,  if  ye  dinna  let  us  in  to  the 
fire.’ 

And  so  saying,  he  burst  his  way  through  both  lines  of  de¬ 
fence  ;  and,  as  he  had  a  careful  eye  over  his  property  of  every 
kind,  he  perceived  at  one  glance  the  absence  of  the  spit  with 
its  savoury  burden.  ‘  What  the  deil,  woman - ’ 

‘Fie  for  shame!’  exclaimed  both  the  women;  ‘and  before 
Mr.  Bide- the- Bent !  ’ 

‘  I  stand  reproved,’  said  the  cooper  ;  ‘  but - ’ 

‘  The  taking  in  our  mouths  the  name  of  the  great  enemy 
of  our  souls,’  said  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent - 

‘  I  stand  reproved,’  said  the  cooper. 

‘  —  Is  an  exposing  ourselves  to  his  temptations,’  continued 
the  reverend  monitor,  ‘  and  an  inviting,  or,  in  some  sort,  a  com¬ 
pelling,  of  him  to  lay  aside  his  other  trafficking  with  unhappy 
persons,  and  wait  upon  those  in  whose  speech  his  name  is 
frequent.’ 

‘Weel,  weel,  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,  can  a  man  do  mair  than 
stand  reproved  ?  ’  said  the  cooper ;  ‘  but  just  let  me  ask  the 
women  what  for  they  hae  dished  the  wild-fowl  before  we  came.’ 


“The  minister  interposed,  both  by  voice  and  action.” 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  127 

‘They  arena  dished,  Gilbert/  said  his  wife;  ‘but  —  but  an 
accident - ’ 

‘What  accident?’  said  Girder,  with  flashing  eyes.  ‘Nae  ill 
come  ower  them,  I  trust  ?  Uh  ?  ’ 

His  ydfe,  who  stood  much  in  awe  of  him,  durst  not  reply, 
but  her  mother  bustled  up  to  her  support,  with  arms  disposed 
as  if  they  were  about  to  be  a-kimbo  at  the  next  reply.  —  ‘  I 
gied  them  to  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  Gibbie  Girder;  and 
what  about  it  now  ?  ’ 

Her  excess  of  assurance  struck  Girder  mute  for  an  instant. 
‘  And  ye  gied  the  wild-fowl,  the  best  end  of  our  christening 
dinner,  to  a  friend  of  yours,  ye  auld  rudas  !  And  what  might 
his  name  be,  I  pray  ye  ?  ’ 

‘Just  worthy  Mr.  Caleb  Balderstone  —  frae  Wolfs  Crag/  an¬ 
swered  Marion,  prompt  and  prepared  for  battle. 

Girder’s  wrath  foamed  over  all  restraint.  If  there  was  a 
circumstance  which  could  have  added  to  the  resentment  he 
felt,  it  was  that  this  extravagant  donation  had  been  made  in 
favour  of  our  friend  Caleb,  towards  whom,  for  reasons  to  which 
the  reader  is  no  stranger,  he  nourished  a  decided  resentment. 
He  raised  his  riding-wand  against  the  elder  matron,  but  she 
stooc  Arm,  collected  in  herself  and  undauntedly  brandished  the 
iron  .  de  with  which  she  had  just  been  ‘flambing’  ( Anglice , 
basti  j  the  roast  of  mutton.  Her  weapon  was  certainly  the 
better,  and  her  arm  not  the  weakest  of  the  two ;  so  that  Gilbert 
thought  it  safest  to  turn  short  off  upon  his  wife,  who  had  by 
this  time  hatched  a  sort  of  hysterical  wdiine,  which  greatly 
moved  the  minister,  who  was  in  fact  as  simple  and  kind-hearted 
a  creature  as  ever  breathed.  ‘And  you,  ye  thowless  jade,  to 
sit  still  and  see  my  substance  disponed  upon  to  an  idle,  drunken, 
reprobate,  worm-eaten  serving-man,  just  because  he  kittles  the 
lugs  o’  a  silly  auld  wife  wi’  useless  clavers,  and  every  twa  words 
a  lee  ?  I  ’ll  gar  you  as  gude - ’ 

Here  the  minister  interposed,  both  by  voice  and  action, 
while  Dame  Lightbody  threw  herself  in  front  of  her  daughter, 
and  flourished  her  ladle. 

‘  Am  I  no  to  chastise  my  ain  wife  ?  ’  exclaimed  the  cooper, 
very  indignantly. 

‘  Ye  may  chastise  your  ain  wife  if  you  like,’  answered  Dame 
Lightbody;  ‘but  ye  shall  never  lay  finger  on  my  daughter, 
and  that  ye  may  found  upon.’ 

‘  For  shame,  Mr.  Girder  !  ’  said  the  clergyman  ;  ‘this  is  what 
I  little  expected  to  have  seen  of  you,  that  you  suld  give  rein 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


128 

to  your  sinful  passions  against  your  nearest  and  your  dearest, 
and  this  night  too,  when  ye  are  called  to  the  most  solemn 
duty  of  a  Christian  parent ;  and  a’  for  what  ?  For  a  redundancy 
of  creature-comforts,  as  worthless  as  they  are  unneedful.  ’ 

‘Worthless!’  exclaimed  the  cooper.  ‘A  better  guse  never 
walkit  on-  stubble ;  twa  finer,  dentier  wild  ducks  never  wat 
a  feather.’ 

‘Be  it  sae,  neighbour,’  rejoined  the  minister;  ‘but  see 
what  superfluities  are  yet  revolving  before  your  fire.  I  have 
seen  the  day  when  ten  of  the  bannocks  which  stand  upon  that 
board  would  have  been  an  acceptable  dainty  to  as  many  men, 
that  were  starving  on  hills  and  bogs,  and  in  caves  of  the  earth, 
for  the  Gospel’s  sake.’ 

‘  And  that ’s  what  vexes  me  maist  of  a’,’  said  the  cooper, 
anxious  to  get  some  one  to  sympathise  with  his  not  altogether 
causeless  anger ;  ‘  an  the  quean  had  gien  it  to  ony  suffering 
sant,  or  to  ony  body  ava  but  that  reaving,  lying,  oppressing 
Tory  villain,  that  rade  in  the  wicked  troop  of  militia  when 
it  was  commanded  out  against  the  sants  at  Bothwell  Brig  by 
the  auld  tyrant  Allan  Ravenswood,  that  is  gane  to  his  place, 
I  wad  the  less  hae  minded  it.  But  to  gie  the  principal  part  o’ 
the  feast  to  the  like  o’  him - !  ’ 

‘Aweel,  Gilbert,’  said  the  minister,  ‘and  dinna  ye  see 
a  high  judgment  in  this  1  The  seed  of  the  righteous  are  not 
seen  begging  their  bread  :  think  of  the  son  of  a  powerful  op¬ 
pressor-  being  brought  to  the  pass  of  supporting  his  house¬ 
hold  from  your  fulness.’ 

‘  And,  besides,’  said  the  wife,  ‘  it  wasna  for  Lord  Ravens¬ 
wood  neither,  an  he  wad  hear  but  a  body  speak  :  it  was  to 
help  to  entertain  the  Lord  Keeper,  as  they  ca’  him,  that ’s  up 
yonder  at  Wolf’s  Crag.’ 

‘Sir  William  Ashton  at  Wolf’s  Crag!’  ejaculated  the  as¬ 
tonished  man  of  hoops  and  staves. 

‘And  hand  and  glove  wi’  Lord  Ravenswood,’  added  Dame 
Lightbody. 

‘  Doited  idiot !  that  auld,  clavering  sneckdrawer  wad  gar 
ye  trow  the  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese.  The  Lord  Keeper 
and  Ravenswood  !  they  are  cat  and  dog,  hare  and  hound.’ 

‘  I  tell  ye  they  are  man  and  wife,  and  gree  better  than  some 
others  that  are  sae,’  retorted  the  mother-in-law ;  ‘  forbye,  Peter 
Puncheon,  that’s  cooper  to  the  Queen’s  stores,  is  dead,  and  the 
place  is  to  fill,  and - ’ 

‘  Od  guide  us,  wull  ye  baud  your  skirling  tongues !  ’  said 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


129 


Girder, — for  we  are  to  remark,  that  this  explanation  was 
given  like  a  catch  for  two  voices,  the  younger  dame,  much 
encouraged  by  the  turn  of  the  debate,  taking  up  and  repeating 
in  a  higher  tone  the  words  as  fast  as  they  were  uttered  by  her 
mother. 

‘  The  gu dewife  says  naething  but  what's  true,  maister,’  said 
Girder’s  foreman,  who  had  come  in  during  the  fray.  £  I  saw  the 
Lord  Keeper’s  servants  drinking  and  driving  ower  at  Luckie 
Sma’trash’s,  ower-bye  yonder.’ 

‘  And  is  their  maister  up  at  W olf  s  Crag  ?  ’  said  Girder. 

‘Ay,  troth  is  he,’  replied  his  man  of  confidence. 

‘  And  friends  wi’  Ravenswood  1  ’ 

‘It’s  like  sae,’  answered  the  foreman,  ‘since  he  is  putting 
up  1  wi’  him.’ 

‘  And  Peter  Puncheon ’s  dead  ?  ’ 

‘Ay,  ay,  Puncheon  has  leaked  out  at  last,  the  auld  carle,’  said 
the  foreman  ;  ‘  mony  a  dribble  o’  brandy  has  gaen  through  him  in 
his  day.  But  as  for  the  broche  and  the  wild-fowl,  the  saddle ’s 
no  aff  your  mare  yet,  maister,  and  I  could  follow  and  bring 
it  back,  for  Mr.  Balderstone ’s  no  far  aff  the  town  yet.’ 

‘Do  sae,  Will;  and  come  here,  I  ’ll  tell  ye  what  to  do  when 
ye  owertake  him.’ 

He  relieved  the  females  of  his  presence,  and  gave  Will  his 
private  instructions. 

‘A  bonny-like  thing,’  said  the  mother-in-law,  as  the  cooper 
re-entered  the  apartment,  ‘  to  send  the  innocent  lad  after  an 
armed  man,  when  ye  ken  Mr.  Balderstone  aye  wears  a  rapier, 
and  whiles  a  dirk  into  the  bargain.’ 

‘  I  trust,’  said  the  minister,  ‘ye  have  reflected  weel  on  what 
ye  have  done,  lest  you  should  minister  cause  of  strife,  of  which 
it  is  my  duty  to  say,  he  who  affordeth  matter,  albeit  he  him¬ 
self  striketh  not,  is  in  no  manner  guiltless.’ 

‘Never  fash  your  beard,  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,’  replied  Girder; 
‘ane  canna  get  their  breath  out  between  wives  and  ministers. 

I  ken  best  how  to  turn  my  ain  cake.  Jean,  serve  up  the  dinner, 
and  nae  mair  about  it.’ 

Nor  did  he  again  allude  to  the  deficiency  in  the  course  of 
the  evening. 

Meantime,  the  foreman,  mounted  on  his  master’s  steed,  and 
charged  with  his  special  orders,  pricked  swiftly  forth  in  pur¬ 
suit  of  the  marauder  Caleb.  That  personage,  it  may  be  im¬ 
agined,  did  not  linger  by  the  way.  He  intermitted  even  his 

1  Taking  up  kis  abode. 

VOL.  VIII  —  9 


130 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


dearly-beloved  chatter,  for  the  purpose  of  making  more  haste, 
only  assuring  Mr.  Lockhard  that  he  had  made  the  purveyor’s 
wife  give  the  wild-fowl  a  few  turns  before  the  fire,  in  case  that 
Mysie,  who  had  been  so  much  alarmed  by  the  thunder,  should 
not  have  her  kitchen-grate  in  full  splendour.  Meanwhile,  alleg¬ 
ing  the  necessity  of  being  at  Wolf’s  Crag  as  soon  as  possible, 
he  pushed  on  so  fast  that  his  companions  could  scarce  keep 
up  with  him.  He  began  already  to  think  he  was  safe  from 
pursuit,  having  gained  the  summit  of  the  swelling  eminence 
which  divides  Wolf’s  Crag  from  the  village,  when  he  heard 
the  distant  tread  of  a  horse,  and  a  voice  which  shouted  at 
intervals,  ‘  Mr.  Caleb  —  Mr.  Balderstone  —  Mr.  Caleb  Balder- 
stone  —  hollo  —  bide  a  wee  !  ’ 

Caleb,  it  may  be  well  believed,  was  in  no  hurry  to  acknowl¬ 
edge  the  summons.  First,  he  would  not  hear  it,  and  faced 
his  companions  down,  that  it  was  the  echo  of  the  wind ;  then 
he  said  it  was  not  worth  stopping  for ;  and,  at  length,  halting 
reluctantly,  as  the  figure  of  the  horseman  appeared  through 
the  shades  of  the  evening,  he  bent  up  his  whole  soul  to  the 
task  of  defending  his  prey,  threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of 
dignity,  advanced  the  spit,  which  in  his  grasp  might  with  its 
burden  seem  both  spear  and  shield,  and  firmly  resolved  to  die 
rather  than  surrender  it. 

What  was  his  astonishment,  when  the  cooper’s  foreman,  rid¬ 
ing  up  and  addressing  him  with  respect,  told  him,  ‘  His  master 
was  very  sorry  he  was  absent  when  he  came  to  his  dwelling, 
and  grieved  that  he  could  not  tarry  the  christening  dinner ; 
and  that  he  had  taen  the  freedom  to  send  a  sma’  runlet  of 
sack,  and  ane  anker  of  brandy,  as  he  understood  there  were 
guests  at  the  castle,  and  that  they  were  short  of  preparation.’ 

I  have  heard  somewhere  a  story  of  an  elderly  gentleman 
who  was  pursued  by  a  bear  that  had  gotten  loose  from  its 
muzzle,  until  completely  exhausted.  In  a  fit  of  desperation, 
he  faced  round  upon  Bruin  and  lifted  his  cane ;  at  the  sight 
of  which  the  instinct  of  discipline  prevailed,  and  the  animal, 
instead  of  tearing  him  to  pieces,  rose  up  upon  his  hind-legs 
and  instantly  began  to  shuffle  a  saraband.  Not  less  than  the 
joyful  surprise  of  the  senior,  who  had  supposed  himself  in  the 
extremity  of  peril  from  which  he  was  thus  unexpectedly  relieved, 
was  that  of  our  excellent  friend  Caleb,  when  he  found  the  pursuer 
intended  to  add  to  his  prize,  instead  of  bereaving  him  of  it.  He 
recovered  his  latitude,  however,  instantly,  so  soon  as  the  fore¬ 
man,  stooping  from  his  nag,  where  he  sate  perched  betwixt  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


131 


two  barrels,  whispered  in  his  ear  —  ‘  If  ony  thing  about  Peter 
Puncheon’s  place  could  be  airted  their  way,  John  Girder 
wad  mak  it  better  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  than  a  pair 
of  new  gloves  ;  and  that  he  wad  be  blithe  to  speak  wi’  Maister 
Balderstone  on  that  head,  and  he  wad  find  him  as  pliant  as 
a  hoop- willow  in  a’  that  he  could  wish  of  him.’ 

Caleb  heard  all  this  without  rendering  any  answer,  except 
that  of  all  great  men  from  Louis  XIV.  downwards,  namely,  ‘  We 
will  see  about  it  ’ ;  and  then  added  aloud,  for  the  edification  of 
Mr.  Lockhard  —  ‘Your  master  has  acted  with  becoming  civility 
and  attention  in  forwarding  the  liquors,  and  I  wfill  not  fail  to 
represent  it  properly  to  my  Lord  Ravenswood.  And,  my  lad,’ 
he  said,  ‘  you  may  ride  on  to  the  castle,  and  if  none  of  the 
servants  are  returned,  whilk  is  to  be  dreaded,  as  they  make  day 
and  night  of  it  when  they  are  out  of  sight,  ye  may  put  them 
into  the  porter’s  lodge,  whilk  is  on  the  right  hand  of  the  great 
entry  :  the  porter  has  got  leave  to  go  to  see  his  friends,  sae  ye 
will  meet  no  ane  to  steer  ye.’ 

The  foreman,  having  received  his  orders,  rode  on  ;  and  having 
deposited  the  casks  in  the  deserted  and  ruinous  porter’s  lodge, 
he  returned  unquestioned  by  any  one.  Having  thus  executed 
his  master’s  commission,  and  doffed  his  bonnet  to  Caleb  and 
his  company  as  he  repassed  them  in  his  way  to  the  village, 
he  returned  to  have  his  share  of  the  christening  festivity.1 


1  See  Raid  of  Caleb  Balderstone.  Note  2. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


As,  to  the  Autumn  breeze’s  bugle  sound, 

Various  and  vague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their  round  ; 

Or,  from  the  garner-door,  on  ether  borne, 

The  chaff  flies  devious  from  the  winnow’d  corn  ; 

So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heaven, 

From  their  fix’d  aim  are  mortal  counsels  driv’n. 

Anonymous. 

WE  left  Caleb  Balderstone  in  the  extremity  of  triumph 
at  the  success  of  his  various  achievements  for  the 
honour  of  the  house  of  Ravenswood.  When  he  had 
mustered  and  marshalled  his  dishes  of  divers  kinds,  a  more 
royal  provision  had  not  been  seen  in  Wolfs  Crag  since  the 
funeral  feast  of  its  deceased  lord.  Great  was  the  glory  of  the 
serving-man,  as  he  ‘  decored  ’  the  old  oaken  table  with  a  clean 
cloth,  and  arranged  upon  it  carbonaded  venison  and  roasted 
wild-foul,  with  a  glance,  every  now  and  then,  as  if  to  upbraid 
the  incredulity  of  his  master  and  his  guests ;  and  with  many 
a  story,  more  or  less  true,  was  Lockhard  that  evening  regaled 
concerning  the  ancient  grandeur  of  Wolfs  Crag,  and  the  sway 
of  its  barons  over  the  country  in  their  neighborhood. 

‘  A  vassal  scarce  held  a  calf  or  a  lamb  his  ain,  till  he  had 
first  asked  if  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  was  pleased  to  accept 
it ;  and  they  were  obliged  to  ask  the  lord’s  consent  before  they 
married  in  these  days,  and  mony  a  merry  tale  they  tell  about 
that  right  as  weel  as  others.  And  although,’  said  Caleb,  £  these 
times  are  not  like  the  gude  auld  times,  when  authority  had  its 
right,  yet  true  it  is,  Mr.  Lockhard,  and  you  yoursell  may  partly 
have  remarked,  that  we  of  the  house  of  Ravenswood  do  our 
endeavour  in  keeping  up,  by  all  just  and  lawful  exertion  of  our 
baronial  authority,  that  due  and  fitting  connexion  betwixt 
superior  and  vassal,  whilk  is  in  some  danger  of  falling  into 
desuetude,  owing  to  the  general  license  and  misrule  of  these 
present  unhappy  times.’ 

‘  Umph  !  ’  said  Mr.  Lockhard  ;  ‘  and  if  I  may  inquire,  Mr. 
Balderstone,  pray  do  you  find  your  people  at  the  village  yonder 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


133 


amenable  ?  for  I  must  needs  say,  that  at  Ravenswood  Castle, 
now  pertaining  to  my  master,  the  Lord  Keeper,  ye  have  not  left 
behind  ye  the  most  compliant  set  of  tenantry/ 

‘Ah!  but  Mr.  Lockhard,’  replied  Caleb,  £ye  must  consider 
there  has  been  a  change  of  hands,  and  the  auld  lord  might  ex¬ 
pect  twa  turns  frae  them,  when  the  new-comer  canna  get  ane. 
A  dour  and  fractious  set  they  were,  thae  tenants  of  Ravenswood, 
and  ill  to  live  wi’  when  they  dinna  ken  their  master ;  and  if 
your  master  put  them  mad  ance,  the  whole  country  will  not 
put  them  down/ 

‘Troth,’  said  Mr.  Lockhard,  ‘an  such  be  the  case,  I  think 
the  wisest  thing  for  us  a’  wad  be  to  hammer  up  a  match  be¬ 
tween  your  young  lord  and  our  winsome  young  leddy  up-bye 
there ;  and  Sir  William  might  just  stitch  your  auld  barony  to 
her  gown-sleeve,  and  he  wad  sune  cuitle 1  another  out  o’  some¬ 
body  else,  sic  a  lang  head  as  he  has.’ 

Caleb  shook  his  head.  ‘  I  wish,’  he  said  —  ‘  I  wish  that  may 
answer,  Mr.  Lockhard.  There  are  auld  prophecies  about  this 
house  I  wad  like  ill  to  see  fulfilled  wi’  my  auld  een,  that  has 
seen  evil  eneugh  already.’ 

‘Pshaw!  never  mind  freits,’  said  his  brother  butler;  ‘if  the 
young  folk  liked  ane  anither,  they  wad  make  a  winsome  couple. 
But,  to  say  truth,  there  is  a  leddy  sits  in  our  hall-neuk,  maun 
have  her  hand  in  that  as  weel  as  in  every  other  job.  But 
there ’s  no  harm  in  drinking  to  their  healths,  and  I  will  fill  Mrs. 
Mysie  a  cup  of  Mr.  Girder’s  canary.’ 

While  they  thus  enjoyed  themselves  in  the  kitchen,  the 
company  in  the  hall  were  not  less  pleasantly  engaged.  So  soon 
as  Ravenswood  had  determined  upon  giving  the  Lord  Keeper 
such  hospitality  as  he  had  to  offer,  he  deemed  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  assume  the  open  and  courteous  brow  of  a  well-pleased 
host.  It  has  been  often  remarked,  that  when  a  man  commences 
by  acting  a  character,  he  frequently  ends  by  adopting  it  in  good 
earnest.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two,  Ravenswood,  to  his 
own  surprise,  found  himself  in  the  situation  of  one  who  frankly 
does  his  best  to  entertain  welcome  and  honoured  guests.  How 
much  of  this  change  in  his  disposition  was  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
beauty  and  simplicity  of  Miss  Ashton,  to  the  readiness  with 
which  she  accommodated  herself  to  the  inconveniences  of  her 
situation ;  how  much  to  the  smooth  and  plausible  conversation 
of  the  Lord  Keeper,  remarkably  gifted  with  those  words  which 


1  Cuitle  may  answer  to  the  elegant  modern  phrase  diddle. 


134 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


win  the  ear,  must  be  left  to  the  reader’s  ingenuity  to  conjecture. 
But  Ravenswood  was  insensible  to  neither. 

The  Lord  Keeper  was  a  veteran  statesman,  well  acquainted 
with  courts  and  cabinets,  and  intimate  with  all  the  various  turns 
of  public  affairs  during  the  last  eventful  years  of  the  17th 
century.  He  could  talk,  from  his  own  knowledge,  of  men  and 
events,  in  a  way  which  failed  not  to  win  attention,  and  had  the 
peculiar  art,  while  he  never  said  a  word  which  committed  him¬ 
self,  at  the  same  time  to  persuade  the  hearer  that  he  was  speak¬ 
ing  without  the  least  shadow  of  scrupulous  caution  or  reserve. 
Ravenswood,  in  spite  of  his  prejudices  and  real  grounds  of 
resentment,  felt  himself  at  once  amused  and  instructed  in  listen¬ 
ing  to  him,  while  the  statesman,  whose  inward  feelings  had  at 
first  so  much  impeded  his  efforts  to  make  himself  known,  had 
now  regained  all  the  ease  and  fluency  of  a  silver-tongued  lawyer 
of  the  very  highest  order. 

His  daughter  did  not  speak  much,  hut  she  smiled ;  and  what 
she  did  say  argued  a  submissive  gentleness,  and  a  desire  to  give 
pleasure,  which,  to  a  proud  man  like  Ravenswood,  was  more 
fascinating  than  the  most  brilliant  wit.  Above  all,  he  could  not 
but  observe  that,  whether  from  gratitude  or  from  some  other 
motive,  he  himself,  in  his  deserted  and  unprovided  hall,  was  as 
much  the  object  of  respectful  attention  to  his  guests  as  he 
would  have  been  when  surrounded  by  all  the  appliances  and 
means  of  hospitality  proper  to  his  high  birth.  All  deficiencies 
passed  unobserved,  or,  if  they  did  not  escape  notice,  it  was  to 
praise  the  substitutes  which  Caleb  had  contrived  to  supply  the 
want  of  the  usual  accommodations.  Where  a  smile  was  un¬ 
avoidable,  it  was  a  very  good-humoured  one,  and  often  coupled 
with  some  well-turned  compliment,  to  show  how  much  the  guests 
esteemed  the  merits  of  their  noble  host,  how  little  they  thought 
of  the  inconveniences  with  which  they  were  surrounded.  I  am 
not  sure  whether  the  pride  of  being  found  to  outbalance,  in 
virtue  of  his  own  personal  merit,  all  the  disadvantages  of  fortune, 
did  not  make  as  favourable  an  impression  upon  the  haughty 
heart  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  as  the  conversation  of  the 
father  and  the  beauty  of  Lucy  Ashton. 

The  hour  of  repose  arrived.  The  Keeper  and  his  daughter 
retired  to  their  apartments,  which  were  ‘  decored  ’  more  properly 
than  could  have  been  anticipated.  In  making  the  necessary 
arrangements,  Mysie  had  indeed  enjoyed  the  assistance  of  a 
gossip  who  had  arrived  from  the  village  upon  an  exploratory 
expedition,  hut  had  been  arrested  by  Caleb,  and  impressed  into 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


135 


the  domestic  drudgery  of  the  evening;  so  that,  instead  of 
returning  home  to  describe  the  dress  and  person  of  the  grand 
young  lady,  she  found  herself  compelled  to  be  active  in  the 
domestic  economy  of  Wolf’s  Crag. 

According  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  attended  the  Lord  Keeper  to  his  apartment,  followed  by 
Caleb,  who  placed  on  the  table,  with  all  the  ceremonials  due  to 
torches  of  wax,  two  rudely-framed  tallow-candles,  such  as  in 
those  days  were  only  used  by  the  peasantry,  hooped  in  paltry 
clasps  of  wire,  which  served  for  candlesticks.  He  then  dis¬ 
appeared,  and  presently  entered  with  two  earthen  flagons  (the 
china,  he  said,  had  been  little  used  since  my  lady’s  time),  one 
filled  with  canary  wine,  the  other  with  brandy.1  The  canary 
sack,  unheeding  all  probabilities  of  detention,  he  declared  had 
been  twenty  years  in  the  cellars  of  Wolf’s  Crag,  ‘though  it  was 
not  for  him  to  speak  before  their  honours  ;  the  brandy  —  it  was 
weel-kenn’d  liquor,  as  mild  as  mead  and  as  strong  as  Samson  ; 
it  had  been  in  the  house  ever  since  the  memorable  revel,  in 
which  auld  Micklestob  had  been  slain  at  the  head  of  the  stair 
by  Jamie  of  Jenklebrae,  on  account  of  the  honour  of  the 
worshipful  Lady  Muirend,  wha  was  in  some  sort  an  ally  of  the 
family  ;  natheless - ’ 

‘But  to  cut  that  matter  short,  Mr.  Caleb,’  said  the  Keeper, 

‘  perhaps  you  will  favour  me  with  a  ewer  of  water.’ 

‘God  forbid  your  lordship  should  drink  water  in  this  family,’ 
replied  Caleb,  ‘  to  the  disgrace  of  so  honourable  an  house  !  ’ 

‘Nevertheless,  if  his  lordship  have  a  fancy,’  said  the  Master, 
smiling,  ‘  I  think  you  might  indulge  him  ;  for,  if  I  mistake  not, 
there  has  been  water  drank  here  at  no  distant  date,  and  with 
good  relish  too.’ 

‘  To  be  sure,  if  his  lordship  has  a  fancy,’  said  Caleb  ;  and 
re-entering  with  a  j  ug  of  pure  element  —  ‘  He  will  scarce  find 
such  water  ony where  as  is  drawn  frae  the  well  at  Wolf’s  Crag ; 
nevertheless - ’ 

‘  Nevertheless,  we  must  leave  the  Lord  Keeper  to  his  repose 
in  this  poor  chamber  of  ours,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood, 
interrupting  his  talkative  domestic,  who  immediately  turning 
to  the  doorway,  with  a  profound  reverence,  prepared  to  usher 
his  master  from  the  secret  chamber. 

But  the  Lord  Keeper  prevented  his  host’s  departure.  —  ‘  I 
have  but  one  word  to  say  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  Mr. 
Caleb,  and  I  fancy  he  will  excuse  your  waiting.’ 


1  See  Ancient  Hospitality.  Note  3. 


136 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


With  a  second  reverence,  lower  than  the  former,  Caleb  with¬ 
drew;  and  his  master  stood  motionless,  expecting,  with  con¬ 
siderable  embarrassment,  what  was  to  close  the  events  of  a  day 
fraught  with  unexpected  incidents. 

‘Master  of  Ravenswood,’  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  with  some 
embarrassment,  ‘  I  hope  you  understand  the  Christian  law  too 
well  to  suffer  the  sun  to  set  upon  your  anger.’ 

The  Master  blushed  and  replied,  ‘  He  had  no  occasion  that 
evening  to  exercise  the  duty  enjoined  upon  him 
faith.’ 

‘  I  should  have  thought  otherwise,’  said  his  guest,  ‘  considering 
the  various  subjects  of  dispute  and  litigation  which  have  un¬ 
happily  occurred  more  frequently  than  was  desirable  or  necessary 
betwixt  the  late  honourable  lord,  your  father,  and  myself.’ 

‘I  could  wish,  my  lord,’  said  Ravenswood,  agitated  by  sup¬ 
pressed  emotion,  ‘  that  reference  to  these  circumstances  should 
be  made  anywhere  rather  than  under  my  father’s  roof.’ 

‘  I  should  have  felt  the  delicacy  of  this  appeal  at  another 
time,’  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  ‘but  now  I  must  proceed  with 
what  I  mean  to  say.  I  have  suffered  too  much  in  my  own 
mind,  from  the  false  delicacy  which  prevented  my  soliciting 
with  earnestness,  what  indeed  I  frequently  requested,  a  personal 
communing  with  your  father  :  much  distress  of  mind  to  him 
and  to  me  might  have  been  prevented.’ 

‘It  is  true,’  said  Ravenswood,  after  a  moment’s  reflection, 
‘I  have  heard  my  father  say  your  lordship  had  proposed  a 
personal  interview.’ 

‘  Proposed,  my  dear  Master  ?  I  did  indeed  propose  it ;  but  I 
ought  to  have  begged,  entreated,  beseeched  it.  I  ought  to 
have  torn  away  the  veil  which  interested  persons  had  stretched 
betwixt  us,  and  shown  myself  as  I  was,  willing  to  sacrifice  a 
considerable  part  even  of  my  legal  rights,  in  order  to  conciliate 
feelings  so  natural  as  his  must  be  allowed  to  have  been.  Let 
me  say  for  myself,  my  young  friend,  for  so  I  will  call  you, 
that  had  your  father  and  I  spent  the  same  time  together  which 
my  good  fortune  has  allowed  me  to-day  to  pass  in  your 
company,  it  is  possible  the  land  might  yet  have  enjoyed  one  of 
the  most  respectable  of  its  ancient  nobility,  and  I  should  have 
been  spared  the  pain  of  parting  in  enmity  from  a  person  whose 
general  character  I  so  much  admired  and  honoured.’ 

He  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  Ravenswood  also  was 
moved,  but  awaited  in  silence  the  progress  of  this  extraordinary 
communication. 


by  his  Christian 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOQR 


137 


‘It  is  necessary,’  continued  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘and  proper 
that  you  should  understand,  that  there  have  been  many  points 
betwixt  us,  in  which,  although  I  judged  it  proper  that  there 
should  he  an  exact  ascertainment  of  my  legal  rights  by  the 
decree  of  a  court  of  justice,  yet  it  was  never  my  intention  to 
press  them  beyond  the  verge  of  equity.’ 

‘My  lord,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  ‘it  is  unneces¬ 
sary  to  pursue  this  topic  farther.  What  the  law  will  give  you, 
or  has  given  you,  you  enjoy  —  or  you  shall  enjoy;  neither  my 
father  nor  myself  would  have  received  anything  on  the  footing 
of  favour.’ 

‘  Favour  !  No,  you  misunderstand  me,’  resumed  the  Keeper ; 
‘  or  rather  you  are  no  lawyer.  A  right  may  be  good  in  law, 
and  ascertained  to  be  so,  which  yet  a  man  of  honour  may  not 
in  every  case  care  to  avail  himself  of.’ 

‘  I  am  sorry  for  it,  my  lord,’  said  the  Master. 

‘Nay,  nay,’  retorted  his  guest,  ‘you  speak  like  a  young 
counsellor ;  your  spirit  goes  before  your  wit.  There  are  many 
things  still  open  for  decision  betwixt  us.  Can  you  blame  me, 
an  old  man  desirous  of  peace,  and  in  the  castle  of  a  young 
nobleman  who  has  saved  my  daughter’s  life  and  my  own,  that 
I  am  desirous,  anxiously  desirous,  that  these  should  be  settled 
on  the  most  liberal  principles  1  ’ 

The  old  man  kept  fast  hold  of  the  Master’s  passive  hand  as 
he  spoke,  and  made  it  impossible  for  him,  be  his  predetermina¬ 
tion  what  it  would,  to  return  any  other  than  an  acquiescent 
reply ;  and  wishing  his  guest  good-night,  he  postponed  farther 
conference  until  the  next  morning. 

Ravenswood  hurried  into  the  hall,  where  he  was  to  spend 
the  night,  and  for  a  time  traversed  its  pavement  with  a 
disordered  and  rapid  pace.  His  mortal  foe  was  under  his  roof, 
yet  his  sentiments  towards  him  were  neither  those  of  a  feudal 
enemy  nor  of  a  true  Christian.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  neither 
forgive  him  in  the  one  character,  nor  follow  forth  his  vengeance 
in  the  other,  but  that  he  was  making  a  base  and  dishonourable 
composition  betwixt  his  resentment  against  the  father  and  his 
affection  for  his  daughter.  He  cursed  himself,  as  he  hurried 
to  and  fro  in  the  pale  moonlight,  and  more  ruddy  gleams  of 
the  expiring  wood-fire.  He  threw  open  and  shut  the  latticed 
windows  with  violence,  as  if  alike  impatient  of  the  admission 
and  exclusion  of  free  air.  At  length,  however,  the  torrent  of 
passion  foamed  off  its  madness,  and  he  flung  himself  into  the 
chair  which  he  proposed  as  his  place  of  repose  for  the  night. 


138 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘If,  in  reality,’  such  were  the  calmer  thoughts  that  followed 
the  first  tempest  of  his  passion  —  ‘  if,  in  reality,  this  man  desires 
no  more  than  the  law  allows  him  —  if  he  is  willing  to  adjust 
even  his  acknowledged  rights  upon  an  equitable  footing,  what 
could  be  my  father’s  cause  of  complaint  1  —  what  is  mine  1 
Those  from  whom  we  won  our  ancient  possessions  fell  under 
the  sword  of  my  ancestors,  and  left  lands  and  livings  to 
the  conquerors ;  we  sink  under  the  force  of  the  law,  now  too 
powerful  for  the  Scottish  chivalry.  Let  us  parley  with  the 
victors  of  the  day,  as  if  we  had  been  besieged  in  our  fortress, 
and  without  hope  of  relief.  This  man  may  be  other  than  I 
have  thought  him ;  and  his  daughter  —  but  I  have  resolved  not 
to  think  of  her.’ 

He  wrapt  his  cloak  around  him,  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of 
Lucy  Ashton  till  daylight  gleamed  through  the  lattices. 


CHAPTER  XV 


We  worldly  men,  when  we  see  friends  and  kinsmen 
Past  hope  sunk  in  their  fortunes,  lend  no  hand 
To  lift  them  up,  but  rather  set  our  feet 
Upon  their  heads  to  press  them  to  the  bottom, 

As  I  must  yield  with  you  I  practised  it ; 

But  now  I  see  you  in  a  way  to  rise, 

I  can  and  will  assist  you. 

New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts. 

THE  Lord  Keeper  carried  with  him,  to  a  couch  harder 
than  he  was  accustomed  to  stretch  himself  upon,  the 
same  ambitious  thoughts  and  political  perplexities 
which  drive  sleep  from  the  softest  down  that  ever  spread  a  bed 
of  state.  He  had  sailed  long  enough  amid  the  contending  tides 
and  currents  of  the  time  to  be  sensible  of  their  peril,  and  of  the 
necessity  of  trimming  his  vessel  to  the  prevailing  wind,  if  he 
would  have  her  escape  shipwreck  in  the  storm.  The  nature  of 
his  talents,  and  the  timorousness  of  disposition  connected  with 
them,  had  made  him  assume  the  pliability  of  the  versatile  old 
Earl  of  Northampton,  who  explained  the  art  by  which  he  kept 
his  ground  during  all  the  changes  of  state,  from  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.  to  that  of  Elizabeth,  by  the  frank  avowal,  that  he 
was  born  of  the  willow,  not  of  the  oak.  It  had  accordingly  been 
Sir  William  Ashton’s  policy,  on  all  occasions,  to  watch  the 
changes  in  the  political  horizon,  and,  ere  yet  the  conflict  was 
decided,  to  negotiate  some  interest  for  himself  with  the  party 
most  likely  to  prove  victorious.  His  time-serving  disposition 
was  well  known,  and  excited  the  contempt  of  the  more  daring 
leaders  of  both  factions  in  the  state.  But  his  talents  were  of  a 
useful  and  practical  kind,  and  his  legal  knowledge  held  in  high 
estimation;  and  they  so  far  counterbalanced  other  deficiencies 
that  those  in  power  were  glad  to  use  and  to  reward,  though 
without  absolutely  trusting  or  greatly  respecting,  him. 

The  Marquis  of  A - had  used  his  utmost  influence  to 


140 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


effect  a  change  in  the  Scottish  cabinet,  and  his  schemes  had 
been  of  late  so  well  laid  and  so  ably  supported,  that  there 
appeared  a  very  great  chance  of  his  proving  ultimately  suc¬ 
cessful.  He  did  not,  however,  feel  so  strong  or  so  confident  as 
to  neglect  any  means  of  drawing  recruits  to  his  standard.  The 
acquisition  of  the  Lord  Keeper  was  deemed  of  some  importance, 
and  a  friend,  perfectly  acquainted  with  his  circumstances  and 
character,  became  responsible  for  his  political  conversion. 

When  this  gentleman  arrived  at  Ravenswood  Castle  upon  a 
visit,  the  real  purpose  of  which  was  disguised  under  general 
courtesy,  he  found  the  prevailing  fear  which  at  present  beset 
the  Lord  Keeper  was  that  of  danger  to  his  own  person  from 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  The  language  which  the  blind 
sibyl,  Old  Alice,  had  used ;  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Master, 
armed,  and  within  his  precincts,  immediately  after  he  had  been 
warned  against  danger  from  him ;  the  cold  and  haughty  return 
received  in  exchange  for  the  acknowledgments  with  which  he 
loaded  him  for  his  timely  protection,  had  all  made  a  strong 
impression  on  his  imagination. 

So  soon  as  the  Marquis’s  political  agent  found  how  the  wind 
sat,  he  began  to  insinuate  fears  and  doubts  of  another  kind, 
scarce  less  calculated  to  affect  the  Lord  Keeper.  He  inquired 
with  seeming  interest,  whether  the  proceedings  in  Sir  William’s 
complicated  litigation  with  the  Ravenswood  family  were  out  of 
court,  and  settled  without  the  possibility  of  appeal.  The  Lord 
Keeper  answered  in  the  affirmative ;  but  his  interrogator  was 
too  well  informed  to  be  imposed  upon.  He  pointed  out  to  him, 
by  unanswerable  arguments,  that  some  of  the  most  important 
points  which  had  been  decided  in  his  favour  against  the  house 
of  Ravenswood  were  liable,  under  the  Treaty  of  Union,  to  be 
reviewed  by  the  British  House  of  Peers,  a  court  of  equity  of 
which  the  Lord  Keeper  felt  an  instinctive  dread.  This  course 
came  instead  of  an  appeal  to  the  old  Scottish  Parliament,  or,  as 
it  was  technically  termed,  ‘a  protestation  for  remeid  in  law.’ 

The  Lord  Keeper,  after  he  had  for  some  time  disputed  the 
legality  of  such  a  proceeding,  was  compelled,  at  length,  to 
comfort  himself  with  the  improbability  of  the  young  Master  of 
Ravenswood’s  finding  friends  in  parliament  capable  of  stirring 
in  so  weighty  an  affair. 

‘  Do  not  comfort  yourself  with  that  false  hope,’  said  his  wily 
friend  ;  ‘  it  is  possible  that,  in  the  next  session  of  Parliament, 
young  Ravenswood  may  find  more  friends  and  favour  even  than 
your  lordship.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  141 

‘That  would  be  a  sight  worth  seeing,’  said  the  Keeper,  scorn¬ 
fully. 

‘And  yet,’  said  his  friend,  ‘such  things  have  been  seen  ere 
now,  and  in  our  own  time.  There  are  many  at  the  head  of 
affairs  even  now  that  a  few  years  ago  were  under  hiding  for 
their  lives  ;  and  many  a  man  now  dines  on  plate  of  silver  that 
was  fain  to  eat  his  crowdy  without  a  bicker ;  and  many  a  high 
head  has  been  brought  full  low  among  us  in  as  short  a  space. 
Scott  of  Scotstarvet’s  Staggering  State  of  Scots  Statesmen ,  of 
which  curious  memoir  you  showed  me  a  manuscript,  has  been 
outstaggered  in  our  time.’ 

The  Lord  Keeper  answered  with  a  deep  sigh,  ‘That  these 
mutations  were  no  new  sights  in  Scotland,  and  had  been 
witnessed  long  before  the  time  of  the  satirical  author  he  had 
quoted.  It  was  many  a  long  year,’  he  said,  ‘since  Fordun  had 
quoted  as  an  ancient  proverb,  “  Neque  dives ,  neque  fortis ,  sed 
nec  sapiens  Scotus,  proe  dominant  e  invidia,  diu  durabit  in  terra .”  ’ 

‘And  be  assured,  my  esteemed  friend,’  was  the  answer,  ‘that 
even  your  long  services  to  the  state,  or  deep  legal  knowledge, 
will  not  save  you,  or  render  your  estate  stable,  if  the  Marquis 

of  A - comes  in  with  a  party  in  the  British  Parliament.  You 

know  that  the  deceased  Lord  Ravens  wood  was  his  near  ally,  his 
lady  being  fifth  in  descent  from  the  Knight  of  Tillibardine ; 
and  I  am  well  assured  that  he  will  take  young  Ravenswood  by 
the  hand,  and  be  his  very  good  lord  and  kinsman.  Why  should 
he  not  h  The  Master  is  an  active  and  stirring  young  fellow, 
able  to  help  himself  with  tongue  and  hands ;  and  it  is  such 
as  he  that  finds  friends  among  their  kindred,  and  not  those  un¬ 
armed  and  unable  Mephibosheths  that  are  sure  to  be  a  burden 
to  every  one  that  takes  them  up.  And  so,  if  these  Ravenswood 
cases  be  called  over  the  coals  in  the  House  of  Peers,  you  will 
find  that  the  Marquis  will  have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  you.’ 

‘That  would  be  an  evil  requital,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘for 
my  long  services  to  the  state,  and  the  ancient  respect  in  which 
I  have  held  his  lordship’s  honourable  family  and  person.’ 

‘Ay,  but,’  rejoined  the  agent  of  the  Marquis,  ‘it  is  in  vain  to 
look  hack  on  past  service  and  auld  respect,  my  lord ;  it  will  be 
present  service  and  immediate  proofs  of  regard  which,  in  these 
sliddery  times,  will  be  expected  by  a  man  like  the  Marquis.’ 

The  Lord  Keeper  now  saw  the  full  drift  of  his  friend’s  argu¬ 
ment,  but  he  was  too  cautious  to  return  any  positive  answer. 

‘He  knew  not,’  he  said,  ‘the  service  which  the  Lord  Marquis 
could  expect  from  one  of  his  limited  abilities,  that  had  not 


142 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


always  stood  at  his  command,  still  saving  and  reserving  his 
duty  to  his  king  and  country.’ 

Having  thus  said  nothing,  while  he  seemed  to  say  every¬ 
thing,  for  the  exception  was  calculated  to  cover  whatever  he 
might  afterwards  think  proper  to  bring  under  it,  Sir  William 
Ashton  changed  the  conversation,  nor  did  he  again  permit  the 
same  topic  to  be  introduced.  His  guest  departed,  without 
having  brought  the  wily  old  statesman  the  length  of  commit¬ 
ting  himself,  or  of  pledging  himself  to  any  future  line  of  conduct, 
but  with  the  certainty  that  he  had  alarmed  his  fears  in  a  most 
sensible  point,  and  laid  a  foundation  for  future  and  farther 
treaty. 

When  he  rendered  an  account  of  his  negotiation  to  the 
Marquis,  they  both  agreed  that  the  Keeper  ought  not  to  be 
permitted  to  relapse  into  security,  and  that  he  should  be  plied 
with  new  subjects  of  alarm,  especially  during  the  absence  of 
his  lady.  They  were  well  aware  that  her  proud,  vindictive, 
and  predominating  spirit  would  be  likely  to  supply  him  with 
the  courage  in  which  he  was  deficient ;  that  she  was  immovably 
attached  to  the  party  now  in  power,  with  whom  she  maintained 
a  close  correspondence  and  alliance ;  and  that  she  hated,  without 
fearing,  the  Ravenswood  family  (whose  more  ancient  dignity 
threw  discredit  on  the  newly-acquired  grandeur  of  her  husband) 
to  such  a  degree,  that  she  would  have  perilled  the  interest  of 
her  own  house  to  have  the  prospect  of  altogether  crushing  that 
of  her  enemy. 

But  Lady  Ashton  was  now  absent.  The  business  which  had 
long  detained  her  in  Edinburgh  had  afterwards  induced  her  to 
travel  to  London,  not  without  the  hope  that  she  might  con¬ 
tribute  her  share  to  disconcert  the  intrigues  of  the  Marquis  at 
court ;  for  she  stood  high  in  favour  with  the  celebrated  Sarah 
Duchess  of  Marlborough,  to  whom,  in  point  of  character,  she 
bore  considerable  resemblance.  It  was  necessary  to  press  her 
husband  hard  before  her  return ;  and,  as  a  preparatory  step, 
the  Marquis  wrote  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  the  letter 
which  we  rehearsed  in  a  former  chapter.  It  was  cautiously 
worded,  so  as  to  leave  it  in  the  power  of  the  writer  hereafter  to 
take  as  deep  or  as  slight  an  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  his 
kinsman  as  the  progress  of  his  own  schemes  might  require. 
But  however  unwilling,  as  a  statesman,  the  Marquis  might  be 
to  commit  himself,  or  assume  the  character  of  a  patron,  while 
he  had  nothing  to  give  away,  it  must  be  said  to  his  honour 
that  he  felt  a  strong  inclination  effectually  to  befriend  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  143 

Master  of  Ravenswood,  as  well  as  to  use  his  name  as  a  means 
of  alarming  the  terrors  of  the  Lord  Keeper. 

As  the  messenger  who  carried  this  letter  was  to  pass  near 
the  house  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  he  had  it  in  direction  that,  in 
the  village  adjoining  to  the  park-gate  of  the  castle,  his  horse 
should  lose  a  shoe,  and  that,  while  it  was  replaced  by  the  smith 
of  the  place,  he  should  express  the  utmost  regret  for  the 
necessary  loss  of  time,  and  in  the  vehemence  of  his  impatience 
give  it  to  be  understood  that  he  was  bearing  a  message  from 

the  Marquis  of  A - to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  upon  a 

matter  of  life  and  death. 

This  news,  with  exaggerations,  was  speedily  carried  from 
various  quarters  to  the  ears  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  each  re¬ 
porter  dwelt  upon  the  extreme  impatience  of  the  courier,  and 
the  surprising  short  time  in  which  he  had  executed  his  journey. 
The  anxious  statesman  heard  in  silence ;  but  in  private  Lock- 
hard  received  orders  to  watch  the  courier  on  his  return,  to 
waylay  him  in  the  village,  to  ply  him  with  liquor,  if  possible, 
and  to  use  all  means,  fair  or  foul,  to  learn  the  contents  of  the 
letter  of  which  he  was  the  hearer.  But  as  this  plot  had  been 
foreseen,  the  messenger  returned  by  a  different  and  distant 
road,  and  thus  escaped  the  snare  that  was  laid  for  him. 

After  he  had  been  in  vain  expected  for  some  time,  Mr. 
Dingwall  had  orders  to  make  especial  inquiry  among  his  clients 
of  Wolf’s  Hope,  whether  such  a  domestic  belonging  to  the 

Marquis  of  A - had  actually  arrived  at  the  neighbouring 

castle.  This  was  easily  ascertained ;  for  Caleb  had  been  in  the 
village  one  morning  by  five  o’clock,  to  borrow  ‘  twa  chappins  of 
ale  and  a  kipper  ’  for  the  messenger’s  refreshment,  and  the 
poor  fellow  had  been  ill  for  twenty-four  hours  at  Luckie  Sma’- 
trash’s,  in  consequence  of  dining  upon  *  saut  saumon  and  sour 
drink.’  So  that  the  existence  of  a  correspondence  betwixt  the 
Marquis  and  his  distressed  kinsman,  which  Sir  William  Ashton 
had  sometimes  treated  as  a  bugbear,  was  proved  beyond  the 
possibility  of  further  doubt. 

The  alarm  of  the  Lord  Keeper  became  very  serious ;  since 
the  Claim  of  Right,  the  power  of  appealing  from  the  decisions 
of  the  civil  court  to  the  Estates  of  Parliament,  which  had 
formerly  been  held  incompetent,  had  in  many  instances  been 
claimed,  and  in  some  allowed,  and  he  had  no  small  reason  to 
apprehend  the  issue,  if  the  English  House  of  Lords  should  be 
disposed  to  act  upon  an  appeal  from  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
‘for  remeid  in  law.’  It  would  resolve  into  an  equitable  claim, 


144 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  be  decided,  perhaps,  upon  the  broad  principles  of  justice, 
which  were  not  quite  so  favourable  to  the  Lord  Keeper  as  those 
of  strict  law.  Besides,  judging,  though  most  inaccurately,  from 
courts  which  he  had  himself  known  in  the  unhappy  times  pre¬ 
ceding  the  Scottish  Union,  the  Keeper  might  have  too  much 
right  to  think  that,  in  the  House  to  which  his  lawsuits  were  to 
be  transferred,  the  old  maxim  might  prevail  in  Scotland  which 
was  too  well  recognised  in  former  times  —  ‘  Show  me  the  man, 
and  I  41  show  you  the  law. ’  The  high  and  unbiassed  character 
of  English  judicial  proceedings  was  then  little  known  in  Scot¬ 
land,  and  the  extension  of  them  to  that  country  was  one  of 
the  most  valuable  advantages  which  it  gained  by  the  Union. 
But  this  was  a  blessing  which  the  Lord  Keeper,  who  had  lived 
under  another  system,  could  not  have  the  means  of  foreseeing. 
In  the  loss  of  his  political  consequence,  he  anticipated  the  loss 
of  his  lawsuit.  Meanwhile,  every  report  which  reached  him 
served  to  render  the  success  of  the  Marquis’s  intrigues  the  more 
probable,  and  the  Lord  Keeper  began  to  think  it  indispensable 
that  he  should  look  round  for  some  kind  of  protection  against 
the  coming  storm.  The  timidity  of  his  temper  induced  him  to 
adopt  measures  of  compromise  and  conciliation.  The  affair  of 
the  wild  bull,  properly  managed,  might,  he  thought,  be  made  to 
facilitate  a  personal  communication  and  reconciliation  betwixt 
the  Master  and  himself.  He  would  then  learn,  if  possible,  what 
his  own  ideas  were  of  the  extent  of  his  rights,  and  the  means 
of  enforcing  them  ;  and  perhaps  matters  might  be  brought  to 
a  compromise,  where  one  party  was  wealthy  and  the  other  so 
very  poor.  A  reconciliation  with  Ravenswood  was  likely  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  to  play  his  own  game  with  the  Marquis 

of  A - .  ‘And  besides,’  said  he  to  himself,  ‘it  will  be  an 

act  of  generosity  to  raise  up  the  heir  of  this  distressed  family ; 
and  if  he  is  to  be  warmly  and  effectually  befriended  by  the 
new  government,  who  knows  but  my  virtue  may  prove  its 
own  reward  1  ’ 

Thus  thought  Sir  William  Ashton,  covering  with  no  unusual 
self-delusion  his  interested  views  with  a  hue  of  virtue ;  and 
having  attained  this  point,  his  fancy  strayed  still  further.  He 
began  to  bethink  himself,  ‘  That  if  Ravenswood  was  to  have  a 
distinguished  place  of  power  and  trust,  and  if  such  a  union 
should  sopite  the  heavier  part  of  his  unadjusted  claims,  there 
might  be  worse  matches  for  his  daughter  Lucy  :  the  Master 
might  be  reponed  against  the  attainder.  Lord  Ravenswood 
was  an  ancient  title,  and  the  alliance  would,  in  some  measure, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


145 


legitimate  his  own  possession  of  the  greater  part  of  the 
Master’s  spoils,  and  make  the  surrender  of  the  rest  a  subject 
of  less  bitter  regret.’ 

With  these  mingled  and  multifarious  plans  occupying  his 
head,  the  Lord  Keeper  availed  himself  of  my  Lord  Bittlebrains’ 
repeated  invitation  to  his  residence,  and  thus  came  within  a 
very  few  miles  of  Wolf’s  Crag.  Here  he  found  the  lord  of  the 
mansion  absent,  but  was  courteously  received  by  the  lady,  who 
expected  her  husband’s  immediate  return.  She  expressed  her 
particular  delight  at  seeing  Miss  Ashton,  and  appointed  the 
hounds  to  be  taken  out  for  the  Lord  Keeper’s  special  amuse¬ 
ment.  He  readily  entered  into  the  proposal,  as  giving  him 
an  opportunity  to  reconnoitre  Wolf’s  Crag,  and  perhaps  to 
make  some  acquaintance  with  the  owner,  if  he  should  be 
tempted  from  his  desolate  mansion  by  the  chase.  Lockhard 
had  his  orders  to  endeavour  on  his  part  to  make  some  acquaint¬ 
ance  with  the  inmates  of  the  castle,  and  we  have  seen  how 
he  played  his  part. 

The  accidental  storm  did  more  to  further  the  Lord  Keeper’s 
plan  of  forming  a  personal  acquaintance  with  young  Ravens- 
wood  than  his  most  sanguine  expectations  could  have  antici¬ 
pated.  His  fear  of  the  young  nobleman’s  personal  resentment 
had  greatly  decreased  since  he  considered  him  as  formidable 
from  his  legal  claims  and  the  means  he  might  have  of  enforcing 
them.  But  although  he  thought,  not  unreasonably,  that  only 
desperate  circumstances  drove  men  on  desperate  measures,  it 
was  not  without  a  secret  terror,  which  shook  his  heart  within 
him,  that  he  first  felt  himself  inclosed  within  the  desolate 
Tower  of  Wolf’s  Crag ;  a  place  so  well  fitted,  from  solitude  and 
strength,  to  be  a  scene  of  violence  and  vengeance.  The  stern 
reception  at  first  given  to  them  by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
and  the  difficulty  he  felt  in  explaining  to  that  injured  nobleman 
what  guests  were  under  the  shelter  of  his  roof,  did  not  soothe 
these  alarms  ;  so  that  when  Sir  William  Ashton  heard  the 
door  of  the  courtyard  shut  behind  him  with  violence,  the 
words  of  Alice  rung  in  his  ears,  ‘  That  he  had  drawn  on  matters 
too  hardly  with  so  fierce  a  race  as  those  of  Ravenswood,  and 
that  they  would  bide  their  time  to  be  avenged.’ 

The  subsequent  frankness  of  the  Master’s  hospitality,  as  their 
acquaintance  increased,  abated  the  apprehensions  these  recol¬ 
lections  were  calculated  to  excite ;  and  it  did  not  escape  Sir 
William  Ashton,  that  it  was  to  Lucy’s  grace  and  beauty  he 
owed  the  change  in  their  host’s  behaviour. 

VOL.  VIII.  — 10 


146 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


All  these  thoughts  thronged  upon  him  when  he  took  possession 
of  the  secret  chamber.  The  iron  lamp,  the  unfurnished  apart¬ 
ment,  more  resembling  a  prison  than  a  place  of  ordinary  repose, 
the  hoarse  and  ceaseless  sound  of  the  waves  rushing  against 
the  base  of  the  rock  on  which  the  castle  was  founded,  saddened 
and  perplexed  his  mind.  To  his  own  successful  machinations, 
the  ruin  of  the  family  had  been  in  a  great  measure  owing,  but 
his  disposition  was  crafty,  and  not  cruel ;  so  that  actually  to 
witness  the  desolation  and  distress  he  had  himself  occasioned 
was  as  painful  to  him  as  it  would  be  to  the  humane  mistress  of 
a  family  to  superintend  in  person  the  execution  of  the  lambs 
and  poultry  which  are  killed  by  her  own  directions.  At  the 
same  time,  when  he  thought  of  the  alternative  of  restoring  to 
Ravenswood  a  large  proportion  of  his  spoils,  or  of  adopting,  as 
an  ally  and  member  of  his  own  family,  the  heir  of  this  im¬ 
poverished  house,  he  felt  as  the  spider  may  be  supposed  to  do 
when  his  whole  web,  the  intricacies  of  which  had  been  planned 
with  so  much  art,  is  destroyed  by  the  chance  sweep  of  a  broom. 
And  then,  if  he  should  commit  himself  too  far  in  this  matter, 
it  gave  rise  to  a  perilous  question,  which  many  a  good  husband, 
when  under  temptation  to  act  as  a  free  agent,  has  asked  himself 
without  being  able  to  return  a  satisfactory  answer  — £  What  will 
my  wife  —  what  will  Lady  Ashton  say  ?  ’  On  the  whole,  he  came 
at  length  to  the  resolution  in  which  minds  of  a  weaker  cast  so 
often  take  refuge.  He  resolved  to  watch  events,  to  take  advan¬ 
tage  of  circumstances  as  they  occurred,  and  regulate  his  con¬ 
duct  accordingly.  In  this  spirit  of  temporising  policy,  he  at 
length  composed  his  mind  to  rest. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


A  slight  note  I  have  about  me  for  you,  for  the  delivery  of  which  you  must 
excuse  me.  It  is  an  offer  that  friendship  calls  upon  me  to  do,  and  no 
way  offensive  to  you,  since  I  desire  nothing  but  right  upon  both  sides. 

King  and  no  King. 

WHEN  Ravenswood  and  his  guest  met  in  the  morning, 
the  gloom  of  the  Master’s  spirit  had  in  part  returned. 
He,  also,  had  passed  a  night  rather  of  reflection  than 
of  slumber  ;  and  the  feelings  which  he  could  not  but  entertain 
towards  Lucy  Ashton  had  to  support  a  severe  conflict  against 
those  which  he  had  so  long  nourished  against  her  father.  To 
clasp  in  friendship  the  hand  of  the  enemy  of  his  house,  to  enter¬ 
tain  him  under  his  roof,  to  exchange  with  him  the  courtesies  and 
the  kindness  of  domestic  familiarity,  was  a  degradation  which 
his  proud  spirit  could  not  be  bent  to  without  a  struggle. 

But  the  ice  being  once  broken,  the  Lord  Keeper  was  resolved 
it  should  not  have  time  again  to  freeze.  It  had  been  part  of 
his  plan  to  stun  and  confuse  Bavenswood’s  ideas,  by  a  compli¬ 
cated  and  technical  statement  of  the  matters  which  had  been 
in  debate  betwixt  their  families,  justly  thinking  that  it  would 
be  difficult  for  a  youth  of  his  age  to  follow  the  expositions  of  a 
practical  lawyer,  concerning  actions  of  compt  and  reckoning, 
and  of  multiplepoin dings,  and  adjudications  and  wadsets,  proper 
and  improper,  and  poindings  of  the  ground,  and  declarations  of 
the  expiry  of  the  legal.  ‘  Thus,’  thought  Sir  William,  ‘I  shall 
have  all  the  grace  of  appearing  perfectly  communicative,  while 
my  party  will  derive  very  little  advantage  from  anything  I  may 
tell  him.’  He  therefore  took  Ravenswood  aside  into  the  deep 
recess  of  a  window  in  the  hall,  and  resuming  the  discourse  of 
the  preceding  evening,  expressed  a  hope  that  his  young  friend 
would  assume  some  patience,  in  order  to  hear  him  enter  into  a 
minute  and  explanatory  detail  of  those  unfortunate  circum¬ 
stances  in  which  his  late  honourable  father  had  stood  at  vari¬ 
ance  with  the  Lord  Keeper.  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  coloured 


148 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


highly,  but  was  silent ;  and  the  Lord  Keeper,  though  not  greatly 
approving  the  sudden  heightening  of  his  auditor’s  complexion, 
commenced  the  history  of  a  bond  for  twenty  thousand  marks, 
advanced  by  his  father  to  the  father  of  Allan  Lord  Ravenswood, 
and  was  proceeding  to  detail  the  executorial  proceedings  by 
which  this  large  sum  had  been  rendered  a  clebitum  fundi,  when 
he  was  interrupted  by  the  Master. 

‘  It  is  not  in  this  place,’  he  said,  ‘  that  I  can  hear  Sir  William 
Ashton’s  explanation  of  the  matters  in  question  between  us.  It 
is  not  here,  where  my  father  died  of  a  broken  heart,  that  I  can 
with  decency  or  temper  investigate  the  cause  of  his  distress. 
I  might  remember  that  I  was  a  son,  and  forget  the  duties  of  a 
host.  A  time,  however,  there  must  come,  when  these  things 
shall  be  discussed  in  a  place  and  in  a  presence  where  both  of 
us  will  have  equal  freedom  to  speak  and  to  hear.’ 

‘Any  time,’  the  Lord  Keeper  said,  ‘any  place,  was  alike  to 
those  who  sought  nothing  but  justice.  Yet  it  would  seem  he 
was,  in  fairness,  entitled  to  some  premonition  respecting  the 
grounds  upon  which  the  Master  proposed  to  impugn  the  whole 
train  of  legal  proceedings,  which  had  been  so  well  and  ripely 
advised  in  the  only  courts  competent.’ 

‘Sir  William  Ashton,’  answered  the  Master,  with  warmth, 

‘  the  lands  which  you  now  occupy  were  granted  to  my  remote 
ancestor  for  services  done  with  his  sword  against  the  English 
invaders.  How  they  have  glided  from  us  by  a  train  of 
proceedings  that  seemed  to  be  neither  sale,  nor  mortgage,  nor 
adjudication  for  debt,  but  a  nondescript  and  entangled  mixture 
of  all  these  rights ;  how  annual  rent  has  been  accumulated 
upon  principal,  and  no  nook  or  coign  of  legal  advantage  left 
unoccupied,  until  our  interest  in  our  hereditary  property  seems 
to  have  melted  away  like  an  icicle  in  thaw  —  all  this  you  under- 
stand  better  than  I  do.  I  am  willing,  however,  to  suppose, 
from  the  frankness  of  your  conduct  towards  me,  that  I  may  in 
a  great  measure  have  mistaken  your  personal  character,  and 
that  things  may  have  appeared  right  and  fitting  to  you,  a  skilful 
and  practised  lawyer,  which  to  my  ignorant  understanding  seem 
very  little  short  of  injustice  and  gross  oppression.’ 

‘And  you,  my  dear  Master,’ answered  Sir  William — ‘you, 
permit  me  to  say,  have  been  equally  misrepresented  to  me.  I 
was  taught  to  believe  you  a  fierce,  imperious,  hot-headed  youth, 
ready,  at  the  slighest  provocation,  to  throw  your  sword  into 
the  scales  of  justice,  and  to  appeal  to  those  rude  and  forcible 
measures  from  which  civil  polity  has  long  protected  the  people 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


149 


of  Scotland.  Then,  since  we  were  mutually  mistaken  in  each 
other,  why  should  not  the  young  nobleman  be  willing  to  listen 
to  the  old  lawyer,  while,  at  least,  he  explains  the  points  of 
difference  betwixt  them  1  ’ 

‘No,  my  lord,’ answered  Ravenswood ;  ‘it  is  in  the  House 
of  British  Peers,1  whose  honour  must  be  equal  to  their  rank  — 
it  is  in  the  court  of  last  resort  that  we  must  parley  together. 
The  belted  lords  of  Britain,  her  ancient  peers,  must  decide,  if  it 
is  their  will  that  a  house,  not  the  least  noble  of  their  mem¬ 
bers,  shall  be  stripped  of  their  possessions,  the  reward  of  the 
patriotism  of  generations,  as  the  pawn  of  a  wretched  mechanic 
becomes  forfeit  to  the  usurer  the  instant  the  hour  of  redemption 
has  passed  away.  If  they  yield  to  the  grasping  severity  of  the 
creditor,  and  to  the  gnawing  usury  that  eats  into  our  lands  as 
moths  into  a  raiment,  it  will  be  of  more  evil  consequence  to 
them  and  their  posterity  than  to  Edgar  Ravenswood.  I  shall 
still  have  my  sword  and  my  cloak,  and  can  follow  the  profession 
of  arms  wherever  a  trumpet  shall  sound.’ 

As  he  pronounced  these  words,  in  a  firm  yet  melancholy  tone, 
he  raised  his  eyes,  and  suddenly  encountered  those  of  Lucy 
Ashton,  who  had  stolen  unawares  on  their  interview,  and 
observed  her  looks  fastened  on  them  with  an  expression  of 
enthusiastic  interest  and  admiration,  which  had  wrapt  her  for 
a  moment  beyond  the  fear  of  discovery.  The  noble  form  and 
fine  features  of  Ravenswood,  fired  with  the  pride  of  birth  and 
sense  of  internal  dignity,  the  mellow  and  expressive  tones  of 
his  voice,  the  desolate  state  of  his  fortunes,  and  the  indifference 
with  which  he  seemed  to  endure  and  to  dare  the  worst  that 
might  befall,  rendered  him  a  dangerous  object  of  contemplation 
for  a  maiden  already  too  much  disposed  to  dwell  upon  recollec¬ 
tions  connected  with  him.  When  their  eyes  encountered  each 
other,  both  blushed  deeply,  conscious  of  some  strong  internal 
emotion,  and  shunned  again  to  meet  each  other’s  looks. 

Sir  William  Ashton  had,  of  course,  closely  watched  the 
expression  of  their  countenances.  ‘I  need  fear,’  said  he 
internally,  ‘neither  Parliament  nor  protestation  ;  I  have  an 
effectual  mode  of  reconciling  myself  with  this  hot-tempered 
young  fellow,  in  case  he  shall  become  formidable.  The  present 
object  is,  at  all  events,  to  avoid  committing  ourselves.  The 
hook  is  fixed ;  we  will  not  strain  the  line  too  soon  :  it  is  as  well 
to  reserve  the  privilege  of  slipping  it  loose,  if  we  do  not  find  the 
fish  worth  landing.’ 


1  See  Appeal  to  Parliament.  Note  4. 


150 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


In  this  selfish  and  cruel  calculation  upon  the  supposed  attach¬ 
ment  of  Ravenswood  to  Lucy,  he  was  so  far  from  considering 
the  pain  he  might  give  to  the  former,  by  thus  dallying  with 
his  affections,  that  he  even  did  not  think  upon  the  risk  of 
involving  his  own  daughter  in  the  perils  of  an  unfortunate 
passion ;  as  if  her  predilection,  which  could  not  escape  his 
attention,  were  like  the  flame  of  a  taper,  which  might  be  lighted 
or  extinguished  at  pleasure.  But  Providence  had  prepared  a 
dreadful  requital  for  this  keen  observer  of  human  passions,  who 
had  spent  his  life  in  securing  advantages  to  himself  by  artfully 
working  upon  the  passions  of  others. 

Caleb  Balderstone  now  came  to  announce  that  breakfast  was 
prepared ;  for  in  those  days  of  substantial  feeding,  the  relics  of 
the  supper  amply  furnished  forth  the  morning  meal.  Neither 
did  he  forget  to  present  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  with  great  reverence, 
a  morning  draught  in  a  large  pewter  cup,  garnished  with  leaves 
of  parsley  and  scurvy-grass.  He  craved  pardon,  of  course,  for 
having  omitted  to  serve  it  in  the  great  silver  standing  cup  as 
behoved,  being  that  it  was  at  present  in  a  silversmith’s  in 
Edinburgh,  for  the  purpose  of  being  overlaid  with  gilt. 

‘  In  Edinburgh  like  enough,’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘but  in  what 
place,  or  for  what  purpose,  I  am  afraid  neither  you  nor  I 
know.’ 

‘  Aweel !  ’  said  Caleb,  peevishly,  ‘  there ’s  a  man  standing  at 
the  gate  already  this  morning  —  that ’s  ae  thing  that  I  ken. 
Does  your  honour  ken  whether  ye  will  speak  wi’  him  or  no  ?  ’ 

‘  Does  he  wish  to  speak  with  me,  Caleb  1  ’ 

‘  Less  will  not  serve  him,’  said  Caleb  ;  ‘  but  ye  had  best  take 
a  visie  of  him  through  the  wicket  before  opening  the  gate  ;  it ’s 
no  every  ane  we  suld  let  into  this  castle.’ 

‘  What !  do  you  suppose  him  to  be  a  messenger  come  to 
arrest  me  for  debt  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood. 

‘  A  messenger  arrest  your  honour  for  debt,  and  in  your 
Castle  of  Wolfs  Crag !  Your  honour  is  jesting  wi’  auld  Caleb 
this  morning.’  However,  he  whispered  in  his  ear,  as  he  followed 
him  out,  ‘I  would  be  loth  to  do  ony  decent  man  a  prejudice 
in  your  honour’s  gude  opinion  ;  but  I  would  tak  twa  looks  o’ 
that  chield  before  I  let  him  within  these  walls.’ 

He  was  not  an  officer  of  the  law,  however ;  being  no  less  a 
person  than  Captain  Craigengelt,  with  his  nose  as  red  as  a 
comfortable  cup  of  brandy  could  make  it,  his  laced  cocked  hat 
set  a  little  aside  upon  the  top  of  his  black  riding  periwig,  a 
sword  by  his  side  and  pistols  at  his  holsters,  and  his  person 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  151 

arrayed  in  a  riding  suit,  laid  over  with  tarnished  lace  —  the 
very  moral  of  one  who  would  say,  ‘  Stand  to  a  true  man.’ 

When  the  Master  had  recognised  him,  he  ordered  the  gates 
to  be  opened.  ‘I  suppose,’  he  said,  ‘Captain  Craigengelt, 
there  are  no  such  weighty  matters  betwixt  you  and  me,  but 
may  be  discussed  in  this  place.  I  have  company  in  the  castle 
at  present,  and  the  terms  upon  which  we  last  parted  must  ex¬ 
cuse  my  asking  you  to  make  part  of  them.’ 

Craigengelt,  although  possessing  the  very  perfection  of  im¬ 
pudence,  was  somewhat  abashed  by  this  unfavourable  reception. 
‘He  had  no  intention/  he  said,  ‘to  force  himself  upon  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood’s  hospitality ;  he  was  in  the  honourable 
service  of  bearing  a  message  to  him  from  a  friend,  otherwise  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  should  not  have  had  reason  to  complain 
of  this  intrusion.’ 

‘Let  it  be  short,  sir,’  said  the  Master,  ‘for  that  will  be  the 
best  apology.  Who  is  the  gentleman  who  is  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  your  services  as  a  messenger  ?  ’ 

‘  My  friend,  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,’  answered  Craigengelt, 
with  conscious  importance,  and  that  confidence  which  the 
acknowledged  courage  of  his  principle  inspired,  ‘  who  conceives 
himself  to  have  been  treated  by  you  with  something  much 
short  of  the  respect  which  he  had  reason  to  demand,  and  there¬ 
fore  is  resolved  to  exact  satisfaction.  I  bring  with  me,’  said 
he,  taking  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket,  ‘the  precise 
length  of  his  sword ;  and  he  requests  you  will  meet  him,  ac¬ 
companied  by  a  friend,  and  equally  armed,  at  any  place  within 
a  mile  of  the  castle,  when  I  shall  give  attendance  as  umpire,  or 
second,  on  his  behoof.’ 

‘  Satisfaction  !  and  equal  arms  !  ’  repeated  Ravenswood,  who, 
the  reader  will  recollect,  had  no  reason  to  suppose  he  had  given 
the  slightest  offence  to  his  late  inmate ;  ‘  upon  my  word,  Cap¬ 
tain  Craigengelt,  either  you  have  invented  the  most  improbable 
falsehood  that  ever  came  into  the  ihind  of  such  a  person,  or 
your  morning  draught  has  been  somewhat  of  the  strongest. 
What  could  persuade  Bucklaw  to  send  me  such  a  message  ?  ’ 

‘For  that,  sir,’  replied  Craigengelt,  ‘I  am  desired  to  refer 
you  to  what,  in  duty  to  my  friend,  I  am  to  term  your  inhospi¬ 
tality  in  excluding  him  from  your  house,  without  reasons 
assigned.’ 

‘It  is  impossible,’  replied  the  Master;  ‘he  cannot  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  interpret  actual  necessity  as  an  insult.  Nor  do  I 
believe  that,  knowing  my  opinion  of  you,  Captain,  he  would 


152 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


have  employed  the  services  of  so  slight  and  inconsiderable  a 
person  as  yourself  upon  such  an  errand,  as  I  certainly  could  ex¬ 
pect  no  man  of  honour  to  act  with  you  in  the  office  of  umpire/ 

‘  I  slight  and  inconsiderable !  ’  said  Craigengelt,  raising  his 
voice,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  cutlass ;  ‘  if  it  were  not  that 
the  quarrel  of  my  friend  craves  the  precedence,  and  is  in  de¬ 
pendence  before  my  own,  I  would  give  you  to  understand - ’ 

4 1  can  understand  nothing  upon  your  explanation,  Captain 
Craigengelt.  Be  satisfied  of  that,  and  oblige  me  with  your 
departure.  ’ 

4  D - n  !  ’  muttered  the  bully ;  4  and  is  this  the  answer 

which  I  am  to  carry  hack  to  an  honourable  message  ?  ’ 

4 Tell  the  Laird  of  Bucklaw,’  answered  Ravenswood,  ‘if  you 
are  really  sent  by  him,  that,  when  he  sends  me  his  cause  of 
grievance  by  a  person  fitting  to  carry  such  an  errand  betwixt 
him  and  me,  I  will  either  explain  it  or  maintain  it.’ 

4  Then,  Master,  you  will  at  least  cause  to  be  returned  to 
Hayston,  by  my  hands,  his  property  which  is  remaining  in 
your  possession.’ 

4  Whatever  property  Bucklaw  may  have  left  behind  him,  sir,’ 
replied  the  Master,  4  shall  be  returned  to  him  by  my  servant,  as 
you  do  not  show  me  any  credentials  from  him  which  entitle 
you  to  receive  it.’ 

4  Well,  Master,’  said  Captain  Craigengelt,  with  malice  which 
even  his  fear  of  the  consequences  could  not  suppress,  ‘you 
have  this  morning  done  me  an  egregious  wrong  and  dishonour, 
but  far  more  to  yourself.  A  castle  indeed  !  ’  he  continued,  look¬ 
ing  around  him ;  4  why,  this  is  worse  than  a  coupe-gorge,  house, 
where  they  receive  travellers  to  plunder  them  of  their  property.’ 

4  You  insolent  rascal,’  said  the  Master,  raising  his  cane,  and 
making  a  grasp  at  the  Captain’s  bridle,  4  if  you  do  not  depart 
without  uttering  another  syllable,  I  will  batoon  you  to  death  !  ’ 

At  the  motion  of  the  Master  towards  him,  the  bully  turned 
so  rapidly  round,  that  with  some  difficulty  he  escaped  throwing 
down  his  horse,  whose  hoofs  struck  fire  from  the  rocky  pave¬ 
ment  in  every  direction.  Recovering  him,  however,  with  the 
bridle,  he  pushed  for  the  gate,  and  rode  sharply  back  again  in 
the  direction  of  the  village. 

As  Ravenswood  turned  round  to  leave  the  courtyard  after 
this  dialogue,  he  found  that  the  Lord  Keeper  had  descended 
from  the  hall,  and  witnessed,  though  at  a  distance  prescribed 
by  politeness,  his  interview  with  Craigengelt. 

4 1  have  seen,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘that  gentleman’s  face, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


153 


and  at  no  great  distance  of  time  ;  his  name  is  Craig  —  Craig  — 
something,  is  it  not  ? 5 

‘Craigengelt  is  the  fellow’s  name,’  said  the  Master,  ‘at  least 
that  by  which  he  passes  at  present.’ 

‘  Craig -in-guilt,’  said  Caleb,  punning  upon  the  word  ‘craig,’ 
which  in  Scotch  signifies  throat ;  ‘  if  he  is  Craig-in-guilt  just  now, 
he  is  as  likely  to  be  Craig-in-peril  as  ony  chield  I  ever  saw ; 
the  loon  has  woodie  written  on  his  very  visonomy,  and  I  wad 
wager  twa  and  a  plack  that  hemp  plaits  his  cravat  yet.’ 

‘You  understand  physiognomy,  good  Mr.  Caleb,’  said  the 
Keeper,  smiling;  ‘I  assure  you  the  gentleman  has  been  near 
such  a  consummation  before  now ;  for  I  most  distinctly  recol¬ 
lect  that,  upon  occasion  of  a  journey  which  I  made  about  a 
fortnight  ago  to  Edinburgh,  I  saw  Mr.  Craigengelt,  or  whatever 
is  his  name,  undergo  a  severe  examination  before  the  privy 
council.’ 

‘  Upon  what  account  1  ’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  with 
some  interest. 

The  question  led  immediately  to  a  tale  which  the  Lord 
Keeper  had  been  very  anxious  to  introduce,  when  he  could  find 
a  graceful  and  fitting  opportunity.  He  took  hold  of  the 
Master’s  arm  and  led  him  back  towards  the  hall.  ‘The 
answer  to  your  question,’  he  said,  ‘though  it  is  a  ridiculous 
business,  is  only  fit  for  your  own  ear.’ 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  he  again  took  the  Master  apart 
into  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  window,  where  it  will  be  easily 
believed  that  Miss  Ashton  did  not  venture  again  to  intrude 
upon  their  conference. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


Here  is  a  father  now, 

Will  truck  his  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 

Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker’d  feud, 

Or  fling  her  o’er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes, 

To  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Anonymous. 

THE  Lord  Keeper  opened  his  discourse  with  an  appear¬ 
ance  of  unconcern,  marking,  however,  very  carefully,  the 
effect  of  his  communication  upon  young  Ravenswood. 
‘You  are  aware,’  he  said,  ‘my  young  friend,  that  suspicion 
is  the  natural  vice  of  our  unsettled  times,  and  exposes  the  best 
and  wisest  of  us  to  the  imposition  of  artful  rascals.  If  I  had 
been  disposed  to  listen  to  such  the  other  day,  or  even  if  I  had 
been  the  wily  politician  which  you  have  been  taught  to  believe 
me,  you,  Master  of  Ravenswood,  instead  of  being  at  freedom, 
and  with  full  liberty  to  solicit  and  act  against  me  as  you  please, 
in  defence  of  what  you  suppose  to  be  your  rights,  would  have 
been  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  or  some  other  state  prison ; 
or,  if  you  had  escaped  that  destiny,  it  must  have  been  by  flight 
to  a  foreign  country,  and  at  the  risk  of  a  sentence  of  fugitation.’ 

‘  My  Lord  Keeper,’  said  the  Master,  ‘I  think  you  would  not 
jest  on  such  a  subject;  yet  it  seems  impossible  you  can  be  in 
earnest.’ 

‘Innocence,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘is  also  confident,  and 
sometimes,  though  very  excusably,  presumptuously  so.’ 

‘I  do  not  understand,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘how  a  conscious¬ 
ness  of  innocence  can  be,  in  any  case,  accounted  presumptuous.’ 

‘Imprudent,  at  least,  it  may  be  called,’  said  Sir  William 
Ashton,  ‘  since  it  is  apt  to  lead  us  into  the  mistake  of  supposing 
that  sufficiently  evident  to  others  of  which,  in  fact,  we  are  only 
conscious  ourselves.  I  have  known  a  rogue,  for  this  very  reason, 
make  a  better  defence  than  an  innocent  man  could  have  done  in 
the  same  circumstances  of  suspicion.  Having  no  consciousness 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


155 


of  innocence  to  support  him,  such  a  fellow  applies  himself  to  all 
the  advantages  which  the  law  will  afford  him,  and  sometimes 
- —  if  his  counsel  be  men  of  talent  —  succeeds  in  compelling  his 
judges  to  receive  him  as  innocent.  I  remember  the  celebrated 
case  of  Sir  Coolie  Condiddle  of  Condiddle,  who  was  tried  for 
theft  under  trust,  of  which  all  the  world  knew  him  guilty,  and 
yet  was  not  only  acquitted,  but  lived  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
honester  folk.’ 

‘Allow  me  to  beg  you  will  return  to  the  point,’  said  the 
Master;  ‘you  seemed  to  say  that  I  had  suffered  under  some 
suspicion.  ’ 

‘  Suspicion,  Master  !  Ay,  truly,  and  I  can  show  you  the 
proofs  of  it ;  if  I  happen  only  to  have  them  with  me.  Here, 
Lockhard.’  His  attendant  came.  ‘Fetch  me  the  little  private 
mail  with  the  padlocks,  that  I  recommended  to  your  particular 
charge,  d’  ye  hear  ?  ’ 

‘Yes,  my  lord.’  Lockhard  vanished;  and  the  Keeper  con¬ 
tinued,  as  if  half  speaking  to  himself. 

‘  I  think  the  papers  are  with  me  —  I  think  so,  for,  as  I  was 
to  be  in  this  country,  it  was  natural  for  me  to  bring  them 
with  me.  I  have  them,  however,  at  Ravenswood  Castle,  that 
I  am  sure  of ;  so  perhaps  you  might  condescend - ’ 

Here  Lockhard  entered,  and  put  the  leathern  scrutoire,  or 
mail-box,  into  his  hands.  The  Keeper  produced  one  or  two 
papers,  respecting  the  information  laid  before  the  privy  council 
concerning  the  riot,  as  it  was  termed,  at  the  funeral  of  Allan 
Lord  Ravenswood,  and  the  active  share  he  had  himself  taken 
in  quashing  the  proceedings  against  the  Master.  These  docu¬ 
ments  had  been  selected  with  care,  so  as  to  irritate  the  natural 
curiosity  of  Ravenswood  upon  such  a  subject,  without  gratifying 
it,  yet  to  show  that  Sir  William  Ashton  had  acted  upon  that 
trying  occasion  the  part  of  an  advocate  and  peacemaker  betwixt 
him  and  the  jealous  authorities  of  the  day.  Having  furnished 
his  host  with  such  subjects  for  examination,  the  Lord  Keeper 
w^ent  to  the  breakfast- table,  and  entered  into  light  conversation, 
addressed  partly  to  old  Caleb,  whose  resentment  against  the 
usurper  of  the  Castle  of  Ravenswood  began  to  be  softened  by 
his  familiarity,  and  partly  to  his  daughter. 

After  perusing  these  papers,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  re¬ 
mained  for  a  minute  or  two  with  his  hand  pressed  against  his 
brow,  in  deep  and  profound  meditation.  He  then  again  ran 
his  eye  hastily  over  the  papers,  as  if  desirous  of  discovering  in 
them  some  deep  purpose,  or  some  mark  of  fabrication,  which 


156 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


had  escaped  him  at  first  perusal.  Apparently  the  second  read¬ 
ing  confirmed  the  opinion  which  had  pressed  upon  him  at  the 
first,  for  he  started  from  the  stone  bench  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  and,  going  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  took  his  hand,  and, 
strongly  pressing  it,  asked  his  pardon  repeatedly  for  the  in¬ 
justice  he  had  done  him,  when  it  appeared  he  was  experiencing, 
at  his  hands,  the  benefit  of  protection  to  his  person  and 
vindication  to  his  character. 

The  statesman  received  these  acknowledgments  at  first  with 
well-feigned  surprise  and  then  with  an  affectation  of  frank 
cordiality.  The  tears  began  already  to  start  from  Lucy’s  blue 
eyes  at  viewing  this  unexpected  and  moving  scene.  To  see 
the  Master,  late  so  haughty  and  reserved,  and  whom  she  had 
always  supposed  the  injured  person,  supplicating  her  father  for 
forgiveness,  was  a  change  at  once  surprising,  flattering,  and 
affecting. 

‘  Dry  your  eyes,  Lucy,’  said  her  father ;  ‘  why  should  you 
weep,  because  your  father,  though  a  lawyer,  is  discovered  to 
be  a  fair  and  honourable  man  ?  What  have  you  to  thank  me 
for,  my  dear  Master,’  he  continued,  addressing  Ravenswood, 
‘that  you  would  not  have  done  in  my  case1?  “ Suurn  cuique 
tribuito ,”  was  the  Roman  justice,  and  I  learned  it  when  1 
studied  Justinian.  Besides,  have  you  not  overpaid  me  a 
thousand  times,  in  saving  the  life  of  this  dear  child  ?  ’ 

‘Yes,’  answered  the  Master,  in  all  the  remorse  of  self- 
accusation  ;  ‘  but  the  little  service  I  did  was  an  act  of  mere 
brutal  instinct ;  your  defence  of  my  cause,  when  you  knew 
how  ill  I  thought  of  you,  and  how  much  I  was  disposed  to  be 
your  enemy,  was  an  act  of  generous,  manly,  and  considerate 
wisdom.’ 

‘  Pshaw !  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘  each  of  us  acted  in  his 
own  way;  you  as  a  gallant  soldier,  I  as  an  upright  judge  and 
privy-councillor.  We  could  not,  perhaps,  have  changed  parts  ; 
at  least  I  should  have  made  a  very  sorry  tauridor,  and  you, 
my  good  Master,  though  your  cause  is  so  excellent,  might  have 
pleaded  it  perhaps  worse  yourself  than  I  who  acted  for  you 
before  the  council.’ 

‘  My  generous  friend !  ’  said  Ravenswood ;  and  with  that 
brief  word,  which  the  Keeper  had  often  lavished  upon  him,  but 
which  he  himself  now  pronounced  for  the  first  time,  he  gave 
to  his  feudal  enemy  the  full  confidence  of  a  haughty  but 
honourable  heart.  The  Master  had  been  remarked  among  his 
contemporaries  for  sense  and  acuteness,  as  well  as  for  his 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


157 


reserved,  pertinacious,  and  irascible  character.  His  preposses¬ 
sions  accordingly,  however  obstinate,  were  of  a  nature  to 
give  way  before  love  and  gratitude ;  and  the  real  charms  of 
the  daughter,  joined  to  the  supposed  services  of  the  father, 
cancelled  in  his  memory  the  vows  of  vengeance  which  he  had 
taken  so  deeply  on  the  eve  of  his  father’s  funeral.  But  they 
had  been  heard  and  registered  in  the  book  of  fate. 

Caleb  was  present  at  this  extraordinary  scene,  and  he  could 
conceive  no  other  reason  for  a  proceeding  so  extraordinary 
than  an  alliance  betwixt  the  houses,  and  Ravenswood  Castle 
assigned  for  the  young  lady’s  dowry.  As  for  Lucy,  when 
Ravenswood  uttered  the  most  passionate  excuses  for  his 
ungrateful  negligence,  she  could  but  smile  through  her  tears, 
and,  as  she  abandoned  her  hand  to  him,  assure  him,  in  broken 
accents,  of  the  delight  with  which  she  beheld  the  complete 
reconciliation  between  her  father  and  her  deliverer.  Even  the 
statesman  was  moved  and  affected  by  the  fiery,  unreserved, 
and  generous  self-abandonment  with  which  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  renounced  his  feudal  enmity,  and  threw  himself 
without  hesitation  upon  his  forgiveness.  His  eyes  glistened 
as  he  looked  upon  a  couple  who  were  obviously  becoming 
attached,  and  who  seemed  made  for  each  other.  He  thought 
how  high  the  proud  and  chivalrous  character  of  Ravenswood 
might  rise  under  many  circumstances  in  which  lie  found 
himself  ‘  overcrowed,’  to  use  a  phrase  of  Spenser,  and  kept 
under,  by  his  brief  pedigree,  and  timidity  of  disposition. 
Then  his  daughter  —  his  favourite  child  —  his  constant  play¬ 
mate —  seemed  formed  to  live  happy  in  a  union  with  such  a 
commanding  spirit  as  Ravenswood ;  and  even  the  fine,  delicate, 
fragile  form  of  Lucy  Ashton  seemed  to  require  the  support  of 
the  Master’s  muscular  strength  and  masculine  character.  And 
it  was  not  merely  during  a  few  minutes  that  Sir  William 
Ashton  looked  upon  their  marriage  as  a  probable  and  even 
desirable  event,  for  a  full  hour  intervened  ere  his  imagination 
was  crossed  by  recollection  of  the  Master’s  poverty,  and  the  sure 
displeasure  of  Lady  Ashton.  It  is  certain,  that  the  very  unusual 
flow  of  kindly  feeling  with  which  the  Lord  Keeper  had  been 
thus  surprised,  was  one  of  the  circumstances  which  gave  much 
tacit  encouragement  to  the  attachment  between  the  Master 
and  his  daughter,  and  led  both  the  lovers  distinctly  to  believe 
that  it  was  a  connexion  which  would  be  most  agreeable  to 
him.  He  himself  was  supposed  to  have  admitted  this  in  effect, 
when,  long  after  the  catastrophe  of  their  love,  he  used  to  warn 


158 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


his  hearers  against  permitting  their  feelings  to  obtain  an 
ascendency  over  their  judgment,  and  affirm,  that  the  greatest 
misfortune  of  his  life  was  owing  to  a  very  temporary  pre¬ 
dominance  of  sensibility  over  self-interest.  It  must  be  owned, 
if  such  was  the  case,  he  was  long  and  severely  punished  for  an 
offence  of  very  brief  duration. 

After  some  pause,  the  Lord  Keeper  resumed  the  conversa¬ 
tion.  — *  In  your  surprise  at  finding  me  an  honester  man  than 
you  expected,  you  have  lost  your  curiosity  about  this  Craigen- 
gelt,  my  good  Master ;  and  yet  your  name  was  brought  in,  in 
the  course  of  that  matter  too/ 

‘  The  scoundrel !  ’  said  Ravenswood.  ‘  My  connexion  with 
him  was  of  the  most  temporary  nature  possible;  and  yet  I 
was  very  foolish  to  hold  any  communication  with  him  at  all. 
What  did  he  say  of  me  ?  ’ 

‘Enough,’  said  the  Keeper,  ‘to  excite  the  very  loyal  terrors 
of  some  of  our  sages,  who  are  for  proceeding  against  men 
on  the  mere  grounds  of  suspicion  or  mercenary  information. 
Some  nonsense  about  your  proposing  to  enter  into  the  service 
of  France,  or  the  Pretender,  I  don’t  recollect  which,  but 

which  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  one  of  your  best  friends,  and 

another  person,  whom  some  call  one  of  your  worst  and 
most  interested  enemies,  could  not,  somehow,  be  brought  to 
listen  to/ 

‘  I  am  obliged  to  my  honourable  friend ;  and  yet,’  shaking 
the  Lord  Keeper’s  hand  — ‘  and  yet  I  am  still  more  obliged  to 
my  honourable  enemy/ 

‘  Inimicus  amicissimus,'  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  returning  the 
pressure  ;  ‘  but  this  gentleman  —  this  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw 
—  I  am  afraid  the  poor  young  man  - —  I  heard  the  fellow 
mention  his  name  —  is  under  very  bad  guidance.’ 

‘  He  is  old  enough  to  govern  himself,’  answered  the  Master. 

‘Old  enough,  perhaps,  but  scarce  wise  enough,  if  he  has 
chosen  this  fellow  for  his  fidus  Achates.  Why,  he  lodged  an 
information  against  him  —  that  is,  such  a  consequence  might 
have  ensued  from  his  examination,  had  we  not  looked  rather  at 
the  character  of  the  witness  than  the  tenor  of  his  evidence/ 

‘Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,’  said  the  Master,  ‘is,  I  belieye, 
a  most  honourable  man,  and  capable  of  nothing  that  is  mean 
or  disgraceful.’ 

‘  Capable  of  much  that  is  unreasonable,  though ;  that  you 
must  needs  allow,  Master.  Death  will  soon  put  him  in  posses¬ 
sion  of  a  fair  estate,  if  he  hath  it  not  already;  old  Lady 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


159 


Girnington  —  an  excellent  person,  excepting  that  her  inveterate 
ill-nature  rendered  her  intolerable  to  the  whole  world  —  is 
probably  dead  by  this  time.  Six  heirs  portioners  have  succes¬ 
sively  died  to  make  her  wealthy.  I  know  the  estates  well : 
they  march1  with  my  own  —  a  noble  property.’ 

‘  I  am  glad  of  it,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘  and  should  be  more  so, 
were  I  confident  that  Bucklaw  would  change  his  company  and 
habits  with  his  fortunes.  This  appearance  of  Craigengelt,  act¬ 
ing  in  the  capacity  of  his  friend,  is  a  most  vile  augury  for  his 
future  respectability.’ 

‘  He  is  a  bird  of  evil  omen,  to  be  sure,’  said  the  keeper,  ‘  and 
croaks  of  jails  and  gallows-tree.  But  I  see  Mr.  Caleb  grows 
impatient  for  our  return  to  breakfast.’ 


1  i.  e.,  They  are  bounded  by  my  own. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


Sir,  stay  at  home  and  take  an  old  man’s  counsel ; 

Seek  not  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger’s  hearth ; 

Our  own  blue  smoke  is  warmer  than  their  fire. 

Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though ’t  is  homely, 

And  foreign  dainties  poisonous,  though  tasteful. 

The  French  Courtezan. 

THE  Master  of  Ravenswood  took  an  opportunity  to  leave 
his  guests  to  prepare  for  their  departure,  while  he  him¬ 
self  made  the  brief  arrangements  necessary  previous 
to  his  absence  from  Wolfs  Crag  for  a  day  or  two.  It  was 
necessary  to  communicate  with  Caleb  on  this  occasion,  and 
he  found  that  faithful  servitor  in  his  sooty  and  ruinous  den, 
greatly  delighted  with  the  departure  of  their  visitors,  and 
computing  how  long,  with  good  management,  the  provisions 
which  had  been  unexpended  might  furnish  forth  the  Master’s 
table.  ‘  He ’s  nae  belly  god,  that ’s  ae  blessing ;  and  Bucklaw ’s 
gane,  that  could  have  eaten  a  horse  behind  the  saddle.  Crosses 
or  water-purpie,  and  a  bit  ait-cake,  can  serve  the  Master  for 
breakfast  as  weel  as  Caleb.  Then  for  dinner  —  there ’s  no 
muckle  left  on  the  spule-bane ;  it  will  brander,  though  —  it  will 
brander1  very  well.’ 

His  triumphant  calculations  were  interrupted  by  the  Master, 
who  communicated  to  him,  not  without  same  hesitation,  his 
purpose  to  ride  with  the  Lord  Keeper  as  far  as  Ravenswood 
Castle,  and  to  remain  there  for  a  day  or  two. 

‘  The  mercy  of  Heaven  forbid  !  ’  said  the  old  serving-man, 
turning  as  pale  as  the  table-cloth  which  he  was  folding  up. 

‘  And  why,  Caleb  ?  ’  said  his  master  —  ‘  why  should  the  mercy 
of  Heaven  forbid  my  returning  the  Lord  Keeper’s  visit  'l  ’ 

4  Oh,  sir  !  ’  replied  Caleb  — ‘  0,  Mr.  Edgar  !  I  am  your  servant, 
and  it  ill  becomes  me  to  speak  ;  but  I  am  an  auld  servant  —  have 
served  baith  your  father  and  gudesire,  and  mind  to  have  seen 
Lord  Randal,  your  great-grandfather,  but  that  was  when  I  was 
a  bairn.’ 


1  Broil. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


161 


*  And  what  of  all  this,  Balderstone  ?  ’  said  the  Master ;  ‘  what 
can  it  possibly  have  to  do  with  my  paying  some  ordinary  civility 
to  a  neighbour  % ’ 

‘  0,  Mr.  Edgar,  —  that  is,  my  lord !  ’  answered  the  butler, 

‘  your  ain  conscience  tells  you  it  isna  for  your  father’s  son  to 
be  neighbouring  wi’  the  like  o’  him ;  it  isna  for  the  credit  of 
the  family.  An  he  were  ance  come  to  terms,  and  to  gie  ye  back 
your  ain,  e’en  though  ye  suld  honour  his  house  wi’  your  alliance, 
I  suldna  say  na ;  for  the  young  leddy  is  a  winsome  sweet 
creature.  But  keep  your  ain  state  wi’  them  —  I  ken  the  race  o’ 
them  weel  —  they  will  think  the  mair  o’  ye.’ 

‘Why,  now,  you  go  farther  than  I  do,  Caleb,’ said  the  Master, 
drowning  a  certain  degree  of  consciousness  in  a  forced  laugh; 
‘  you  are  for  marrying  me  into  a  family  that  you  will  not  allow 
me  to  visit,  how  ’s  this  %  and  you  look  as  pale  as  death  besides.’ 

‘  0,  sir,’  repeated  Caleb  again,  ‘  you  would  but  laugh  if  I 
tauld  it ;  but  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  whose  tongue  couldna  be 
fause,  spoke  the  word  of  your  house  that  will  e’en  prove  ower 
true  if  you  go  to  Ravenswood  this  day.  0,  that  it  should  e’er 
have  been  fulfilled  in  my  time  !  ’ 

‘  And  what  is  it,  Caleb  1  ’  said  Ravenswood,  wishing  to  soothe 
the  fears  of  his  old  servant. 

Caleb  replied,  ‘  He  had  never  repeated  the  lines  to  living 
mortal ;  they  were  told  to  him  by  an  auld  priest  that  had  been 
confessor  to  Lord  Allan’s  father  when  the  family  were  Catholic. 
But  mony  a  time,’  he  said,  ‘  I  hae  soughed  thae  dark  words 
ower  to  mysell,  and,  well  a-day  !  little  did  I  think  of  their 
coming  round  this  day.’ 

‘Truce  with  your  nonsense,  and  let  me  hear  the  doggerel 
which  has  put  it  into  your  head,’  said  the  Master,  impatiently. 

With  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with  apprehension, 
Caleb  faltered  out  the  following  lines  :  — 

‘  When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood  shall  ride, 

And  woo  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride, 

He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  Kelpie’s  flow, 

And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe  !  ’ 

‘  I  know  the  Kelpie’s  flow  well  enough,’  said  the  Master  ;  ‘  I 
suppose,  at  least,  you  mean  the  quicksand  betwixt  this  tower 
and  Wolfs  Hope ;  but  why  any  man  in  his  senses  should  stable 
a  steed  there - ’ 

‘  0,  never  speer  ony  thing  about  that,  sir  —  God  forbid  we 
should  ken  what  the  prophecy  means  —  but  just  bide  you  at 

VOL.  VIII  — 11 


1 62 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


hame,  and  let  the  strangers  ride  to  Ravenswood  by  themselves. 
We  have  done  eneugh  for  them  ;  and  to  do  mair  would  be 
mair  against  the  credit  of  the  family  than  in  its  favour/ 

‘  Well,  Caleb/  said  the  Master,  ‘  I  give  you  the  best  possible 
credit  for  your  good  advice  on  this  occasion  ;  but  as  1  do  not 
go  to  Ravenswood  to  seek  a  bride,  dead  or  alive,  I  hope  I  shall 
choose  a  better  stable  for  my  horse  than  the  Kelpie’s  quicksand, 
and  especially  as  I  have  always  had  a  particular  dread  of  it 
since  the  patrol  of  dragoons  were  lost  there  ten  years  since. 
My  father  and  I  saw  them  from  the  tower  struggling  against 
the  advancing  tide,  and  they  were  lost  long  before  any  help 
could  reach  them.’ 

‘  And  they  deserved  it  weel,  the  southern  loons  !  ’  said  Caleb  ; 
£what  had  they  ado  capering  on  our  sands,  and  hindering  a 
wheen  honest  folk  frae  bringing  on  shore  a  drap  brandy  ?  I 
hae  seen  them  that  busy,  that  I  wad  hae  fired  the  auld  culverin 
or  the  demi-saker  that ’s  on  the  south  bartizan  at  them,  only  I 
was  feared  they  might  burst  in  the  ganging  aff.’ 

Caleb’s  brain  was  now  fully  engaged  with  abuse  of  the 
English  soldiery  and  excisemen,  so  that  his  master  found  no 
great  difficulty  in  escaping  from  him  and  rejoining  his  guests. 
All  was  now  ready  for  their  departure;  and  one  of  the  Lord 
Keeper’s  grooms  having  saddled  the  Master’s  steed,  they 
mounted  in  the  courtyard. 

Caleb  had,  with  much  toil,  opened  the  double  doors  of  the 
outward  gate,  and  thereat  stationed  himself,  endeavouring,  by 
the  reverential,  and  at  the  same  time  consequential,  air  which 
he  assumed,  to  supply,  by  his  own  gaunt,  wasted,  and  thin 
person,  the  absence  of  a  whole  baronial  establishment  of  porters, 
warders,  and  liveried  menials. 

The  Keeper  returned  his  deep  reverence  with  a  cordial  fare¬ 
well,  stooping  at  the  same  time  from  his  horse,  and  sliding  into 
the  butler’s  hand  the  remuneration  which  in  those  days  was 
always  given  by  a  departing  guest  to  the  domestics  of  the 
family  where  he  had  been  entertained.  Lucy  smiled  on  the 
old  man  with  her  usual  sweetness,  bade  him  adieu,  and  de¬ 
posited  her  guerdon  with  a  grace  of  action  and  a  gentleness  of 
accent  which  could  not  have  failed  to  have  won  the  faithful 
retainer’s  heart,  hut  for  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  the  success¬ 
ful  lawsuit  against  his  master.  As  it  was,  he  might  have 
adopted  the  language  of  the  Duke  in  As  You  Like  It  — 

Thou  wouldst  have  better  pleased  me  with  this  deed, 

If  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


163 


Ravenswood  was  at  the  lady’s  bridle-rein,  encouraging  her 
timidity,  and  guiding  her  horse  carefully  down  the  rocky  path 
which  led  to  the  moor,  when  one  of  the  servants  announced 
from  the  rear  that  Caleb  was  calling  loudly  after  them,  desir¬ 
ing  to  speak  with  his  master.  Ravenswood  felt  it  would  look 
singular  to  neglect  this  summons,  although  inwardly  cursing 
Caleb  for  his  impertinent  officiousness ;  therefore  he  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  relinquish  to  Mr.  Lockhard  the  agreeable  duty  in 
which  he  was  engaged,  and  to  ride  back  to  the  gate  of  the 
courtyard.  Here  he  was  beginning,  somewhat  peevishly,  to 
ask  Caleb  the  cause  of  his  clamour,  when  the  good  old  man  ex¬ 
claimed,  4  Whisht,  sir  !  — whisht,  and  let  me  speak  just  ae  word 
that  I  couldna  say  afore  folk ;  there  (putting  into  his  lord’s 
hand  the  money  he  had  just  received)  —  there  ’s  three  gowd 
pieces ;  and  ye  ’ll  want  siller  up-bye  yonder.  But  stay,  whisht 
now !  ’  for  the  Master  was  beginning  to  exclaim  against  this 
transference,  ‘never  say  a  word,  but  just  see  to  get  them 
changed  in  the  first  town  ye  ride  through,  for  they  are  bran 
new  frae  the  mint,  and  kenspeckle  a  wee  bit.’ 

‘You  forget,  Caleb,’  said  his  master,  striving  to  force  back 
the  money  on  his  servant,  and  extricate  the  bridle  from  his 
hold  —  you  forget  that  I  have  some  gold  pieces  left  of  my 
own.  Keep  these  to  yourself,  my  old  friend ;  and,  once  more, 
good  day  to  you.  I  assure  you,  I  have  plenty.  You  know 
you  have  managed  that  our  living  should  cost  us  little  or 
nothing.’ 

‘  Aweel,’  said  Caleb,  ‘  these  will  serve  for  you  another  time  ; 
but  see  ye  hae  eneugh,  for,  doubtless,  for  the  credit  of  the 
family,  there  maun  be  some  civility  to  the  servants,  and  ye 
maun  hae  something  to  mak  a  show  with  when  they  say, 
“  Master,  will  you  bet  a  broad  piece  'l  ”  Then  ye  maun  tak  out 
your  purse,  and  say,  “  I  carena  if  I  do  ” ;  and  tak  care  no  to 
agree  on  the  articles  of  the  wager,  and  just  put  up  your  purse 
again,  and - ’ 

‘This  is  intolerable,  Caleb ;  I  really  must  be  gone.’ 

‘  And  you  will  go,  then  ?  ’  said  Caleb,  loosening  his  hold 
upon  the  Master’s  cloak,  and  changing  his  didactics  into  a 
pathetic  and  mournful  tone  —  ‘  and  you  will  go,  for  a’  I  have 
told  you  about  the  prophecy,  and  the  dead  bride,  and  the 
Kelpie’s  quicksand  'i  Aweel  !  a  wilful  man  maun  hae  his  way  : 
he  that  will  to  Cupar,  maun  to  Cupar.  But  pity  of  your  life, 
sir,  if  ye  be  fowling  or  shooting  in  the  Park,  beware  of  drinking 
at  the  Mermaiden’s  Well He ’s  gane  !  he ’s  down  the  path 


164 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


arrow-flight  after  her  1  The  head  is  as  clean  taen  aff  the  Ravens- 
wood  family  this  day  as  I  wad  chap  the  head  aff'  a  sybo  !  ’ 

The  old  butler  looked  long  after  his  master,  often  clearing 
away  the  dew  as  it  rose  to  his  eyes,  that  he  might,  as  long  as 
possible,  distinguish  his  stately  form  from  those  of  the  other 
horsemen.  ‘  Close  to  her  bridle-rein  —  ay,  close  to  her  bridle- 
rein  !  Wisely  saith  the  holy  man,  “  By  this  also  you  may 
know  that  woman  hath  dominion  over  all  men  ”  ;  and  without 
this  lass  would  not  our  ruin  have  been  a’thegither  fulfilled/ 

With  a  heart  fraught  with  such  sad  auguries  did  Caleb 
return  to  his  necessary  duties  at  Wolffs  Crag,  as  soon  as  he 
could  no  longer  distinguish  the  object  of  his  anxiety  among  the 
group  of  riders,  which  diminished  in  the  distance. 

In  the  meantime  the  party  pursued  their  route  joyfully. 
Having  once  taken  his  resolution,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
was  not  of  a  character  to  hesitate  or  pause  upon  it.  He  aban¬ 
doned  himself  to  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  Miss  Ashton’s  company, 
and  displayed  an  assiduous  gallantry  which  approached  as 
nearly  to  gaiety  as  the  temper  of  his  mind  and  state  of  his 
family  permitted.  The  Lord  Keeper  was  much  struck  with  his 
depth  of  observation,  and  the  unusual  improvement  which  he  had 
derived  from  his  studies.  Of  these  accomplishments  Sir  William 
Ashton’s  profession  and  habits  of  society  rendered  him  an  ex¬ 
cellent  judge  ;  and  he  well  knew  how  to  appreciate  a  quality  to 
which  he  himself  was  a  total  stranger  —  the  brief  and  decided 
dauntlessness  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood’s  disposition,  who 
seemed  equally  a  stranger  to  doubt  and  to  fear.  In  his  heart 
the  Lord  Keeper  rejoiced  at  having  conciliated  an  adversary  so 
formidable,  while,  with  a  mixture  of  pleasure  and  anxiety,  he  an¬ 
ticipated  the  great  things  his  young  companion  might  achieve, 
were  the  breath  of  court-favour  to  fill  his  sails. 

‘What  could  she  desire,’  he  thought,  his  mind  always  con¬ 
juring  up  opposition  in  the  person  of  Lady  Ashton  to  his  now 
prevailing  wish  —  ‘  what  could  a  woman  desire  in  a  match 
more  than  the  sopiting  of  a  very  dangerous  claim,  and  the 
alliance  of  a  son-in-law,  noble,  brave,  well-gifted,  and  highly 
connected  ;  sure  to  float  whenever  the  tide  sets  his  way ;  strong, 
exactly  where  we  are  weak,  in  pedigree  and  in  the  temper  of  a 
swordsman  ?  Sure,  no  reasonable  woman  would  hesitate.  But, 
alas - !  ’  Here  his  argument  was  stopped  by  the  conscious¬ 

ness  that  Lady  Ashton  was  not  always  reasonable,  in  his  sense  of 
the  word.  ‘  To  prefer  some  clownish  Merse  laird  to  the  gallant 
young  nobleman,  and  to  the  secure  possession  of  Ravenswood 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  165 

upon  terms  of  easy  compromise  —  it  would  be  the  act  of  a  mad¬ 
woman  !  ’ 

Thus  pondered  the  veteran  politician,  until  they  reached 
Bittlebrains’  House,  where  it  had  been  previously  settled  they 
were  to  dine  and  repose  themselves,  and  prosecute  their  journey 
in  the  afternoon. 

They  were  received  with  an  excess  of  hospitality ;  and  the 
most  marked  attention  was  offered  to  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood,  in  particular,  by  their  noble  entertainers.  The  truth 
was,  that  Lord  Bittlebrains  had  obtained  his  peerage  by  a  good 
deal  of  plausibility,  an  art  of  building  up  a  character  for  wisdom 
upon  a  very  trite  style  of  commonplace  eloquence,  a  steady  ob¬ 
servation  of  the  changes  of  the  times,  and  the  power  of  render¬ 
ing  certain  political  services  to  those  who  could  best  reward 
them.  His  lady  and  he,  not  feeling  quite  easy  under  their  new 
honours,  to  which  use  had  not  adapted  their  feelings,  were  very 
desirous  to  procure  the  fraternal  countenance  of  those  v/ho  were 
born  denizens  of  the  regions  into  which  they  had  been  exalted 
from  a  lower  sphere.  The  extreme  attention  which  they  paid 
to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  its  usual  effect  in  exalting 
his  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  who,  although 
he  had  a  reasonable  degree  of  contempt  for  Lord  Bittlebrains’ 
general  parts,  entertained  a  high  opinion  of  the  acuteness  of  his 
judgment  in  all  matters  of  self-interest. 

‘I  wish  Lady  Ashton  had  seen  this,’  was  his  internal  reflec¬ 
tion  ;  ‘no  man  knows  so  well  as  Bittlebrains  on  which  side  his 
bread  is  buttered ;  and  he  fawns  on  the  Master  like  a  beggar’s 
messan  on  a  cook.  And  my  lady,  too,  bringing  forward  her 
beetle-browed  misses  to  skirl  and  play  upon  the  virginals,  as  if 
she  said,  “  Pick  and  choose.”  They  are  no  more  comparable  to 
Lucy  than  an  owl  is  to  a  cygnet,  and  so  they  may  carry  their 
black  brows  to  a  farther  market.’ 

The  entertainment  being  ended,  our  travellers,  who  had  still 
to  measure  the  longest  part  of  their  journey,  resumed  their 
horses;  and  after  the  Lord  Keeper,  the  Master,  and  the  do¬ 
mestics  had  drunk  doch-an-dorroch,  or  the  stirrup-cup,  in  the 
liquors  adapted  to  their  various  ranks,  the  cavalcade  resumed 
its  progress. 

It  was  dark  by  the  time  they  entered  the  avenue  of  Ravens¬ 
wood  Castle,  a  long  straight  line  leading  directly  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  flanked  with  huge  elm -trees,  which  sighed  to  the 
night-wind,  as  if  they  compassionated  the  heir  of  their  ancient 
proprietors,  who  now  returned  to  their  shades  in  the  society, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


ICO* 

and  almost  in  the  retinue,  of  their  new  master.  Some  feelings 
of  the  same  kind  oppressed  the  mind  of  the  Master  himself. 
He  gradually  became  silent,  and  dropped  a  little  behind  the 
lady,  at  whose  bridle-rein  he  had  hitherto  waited  with  such 
devotion.  He  well  recollected  the  period  when,  at  the  same 
hour  in  the  evening,  he  had  accompanied  his  father,  as  that 
nobleman  left,  never  again  to  return  to  it,  the  mansion  from 
which  he  derived  his  name  and  title.  The  extensive  front  of 
the  old  castle,  on  which  he  remembered  having  often  looked 
back,  was  then  ‘as  black  as  mourning  weed.’  The  same  front 
now  glanced  with  many  lights,  some  throwing  far  forward  into 
the  night  a  fixed  and  stationary  blaze,  and  others  hurrying  from 
one  window  to  another,  intimating  the  bustle  and  busy  prepara¬ 
tions  preceding  their  arrival,  which  had  been  intimated  by  an 
avant-courier.  The  contrast  pressed  so  strongly  upon  the 
Master’s  heart  as  to  awaken  some  of  the  sterner  feelings  with 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  the  new  lord  of  his 
paternal  domain,  and  to  impress  his  countenance  with  an  air  of 
severe  gravity,  when,  alighted  from  his  horse,  he  stood  in  the 
hall  no  longer  his  own,  surrounded  by  the  numerous  menials  of 
its  present  owner. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  when  about  to  welcome  him  with  the 
cordiality  which  their  late  intercourse  seemed  to  render  proper, 
became  aware  of  the  change,  refrained  from  his  purpose,  and 
only  intimated  the  ceremony  of  reception  by  a  deep  reverence 
to  his  guest,  seeming  thus  delicately  to  share  the  feelings  which 
predominated  on  his  brow. 

Two  upper  domestics,  bearing  each  a  huge  pair  of  silver 
candlesticks,  now  marshalled  the  company  into  a  large  saloon, 
or  withdrawing-room,  where  new  alterations  impressed  upon 
Ravenswood  the  superior  wealth  of  the  present  inhabitants  of 
the  castle.  The  mouldering  tapestry,  which,  in  his  father’s 
time,  had  half  covered  the  walls  of  this  stately  apartment,  and 
half  streamed  from  them  in  tatters,  had  given  place  to  a  com¬ 
plete  finishing  of  wainscot,  the  cornice  of  which,  as  well  as  the 
frames  of  the  various  compartments,  were  ornamented  with 
festoons  of  fiowers  and  with  birds,  which,  though  carved  in  oak, 
seemed,  such  was  the  art  of  the  chisel,  actually  to  swell  their 
throats  and  flutter  their  wings.  Several  old  family  portraits 
of  armed  heroes  of  the  house  of  Ravenswood,  together  with  a 
suit  or  two  of  old  armour  and  some  military  weapons,  had 
given  place  to  those  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary,  of  Sir 
Thomas  Hope  and  Lord  Stair,  two  distinguished  Scottish 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


167 


lawyers.  The  pictures  of  the  Lord  Keeper’s  father  and  mother 
were  also  to  be  seen ;  the  latter,  sour,  shrewish,  and  solemn,  in 
her  black  hood  and  close  pinners,  with  a  book  of  devotion  in 
her  hand ;  the  former,  exhibiting  beneath  a  black  silk  Geneva 
cowl,  or  skull-cap,  which  sat  as  close  to  the  head  as  if  it  had 
been  shaven,  a  pinched,  peevish,  Puritanical  set  of  features, 
terminating  in  a  hungry,  reddish,  peaked  beard,  forming  on 
the  whole  a  countenance  in  the  expression  of  which  the  hypo¬ 
crite  seemed  to  contend  with  the  miser  and  the  knave.  £  And 
it  is  to  make  room  for  such  scarecrows  as  these,’  though  Ravens- 
wood,  ‘  that  my  ancestors  have  been  torn  down  from  the  walls 
which  they  erected !  ’  He  looked  at  them  again,  and,  as  he 
looked,  the  recollection  of  Lucy  Ashton,  for  she  had  not  entered 
the  apartment  with  them,  seemed  less  lively  in  his  imagination. 
There  were  also  two  or  three  Dutch  drolleries,  as  the  pictures 
of  Ostade  and  Teniers  were  then  termed,  with  one  good  painting 
of  the  Italian  school.  There  was,  besides,  a  noble  full-length  of 
the  Lord  Keeper  in  his  robes  of  office,  placed  beside  his  lady 
in  silk  and  ermine,  a  haughty  beauty,  bearing  in  her  looks 
all  the  pride  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  from  which  she  was 
descended.  The  painter,  notwithstanding  his  skill,  overcome 
by  the  reality,  or,  perhaps,  from  a  suppressed  sense  of  humour, 
had  not  been  able  to  give  the  husband  on  the  canvas  that  air 
of  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy  which  indicates  the  full 
possession  of  domestic  authority.  It  was  obvious  at  the  first 
glance  that,  despite  mace  and  gold  frogs,  the  Lord  Keeper  was 
somewhat  henpecked.  The  floor  of  this  fine  saloon  was  laid 
with  rich  carpets,  huge  fires  blazed  in  the  double  chimneys,  and 
ten  silver  sconces,  reflecting  with  their  bright  plates  the  lights 
which  they  supported,  made  the  whole  seem  as  brilliant  as  day. 

‘Would  you  choose  any  refreshment,  Master*?’  said  Sir 
William  Ashton,  not  unwilling  to  break  the  awkward  silence. 

He  received  no  answer,  the  Master  being  so  busily  engaged 
in  marking  the  various  changes  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
apartment,  that  he  hardly  heard  the  Lord  Keeper  address  him. 
A  repetition  of  the  offer  of  refreshment,  with  the  addition,  that 
the  family  meal  would  be  presently  ready,  compelled  his  atten¬ 
tion,  and  reminded  him  that  he  acted  a  weak,  perhaps  even 
a  ridiculous,  part  in  suffering  himself  to  be  overcome  by  the 
circumstances  in  which  he  found  himself.  He  compelled 
himself,  therefore,  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Sir  William 
Ashton,  with  as  much  appearance  of  indifference  as  he  could 
well  command. 


168 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘You  will  not  be  surprised,  Sir  William,  that  I  am  interested 
in  the  changes  you  have  made  for  the  better  in  this  apartment. 
In  my  father’s  time,  after  our  misfortunes  compelled  him  to 
live  in  retirement,  it  was  little  used,  except  by  me  as  a  play¬ 
room,  when  the  weather  would  not  permit  me  to  go  abroad. 
In  that  recess  was  my  little  workshop,  where  I  treasured  the 
few  carpenters’  tools  which  old  Caleb  procured  for  me,  and 
taught  me  how  to  use;  there,  in  yonder  corner,  under  that 
handsome  silver  sconce,  I  kept  my  fishing-rods  and  hunting 
poles,  bows  and  arrows.’ 

‘  I  have  a  young  birkie,  ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  willing  to 
change  the  tone  of  the  conversation,  ‘  of  much  the  same  turn. 
He  is  never  happy  save  when  he  is  in  the  field.  I  wonder 
he  is  not  here.  Here,  Lockhard ;  send  William  Shaw  for  Mr. 
Henry.  I  suppose  he  is,  as  usual,  tied  to  Lucy’s  apron-string  ; 
that  foolish  girl,  Master,  draws  the  whole  family  after  her  at 
her  pleasure.’ 

‘Even  this  allusion  to  his  daughter,  though  artfully  thrown 
out,  did  not  recall  Ravenswood  from  his  own  topic. 

‘  We  were  obliged  to  leave,’  he  said,  ‘  some  armour  and 
portraits  in  this  apartment ;  may  I  ask  where  they  have  been 
removed  to  ?  ’ 

‘  Why,’  answered  the  Keeper,  with  some  hesitation,  ‘  the 
room  was  fitted  up  in  our  absence,  and  cedant  arma  toga?  is 
the  maxim  of  lawyers,  you  know  :  I  am  afraid  it  has  been  here 
somewhat  too  literally  complied  with.  I  hope  —  I  believe  they 
are  safe,  I  am  sure  I  gave  orders;  may  I  hope  that  when 
they  are  recovered,  and  put  in  proper  order,  you  will  do  me 
the  honour  to  accept  them  at  my  hand,  as  an  atonement  for 
their  accidental  derangement  ?  ’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  bowed  stiffly,  and,  with  folded 
arms,  again  resumed  his  survey  of  the  room. 

Henry,  a  spoilt  boy  of  fifteen,  burst  into  the  room,  and  ran 
up  to  his  father.  ‘  Think  of  Lucy,  papa ;  she  has  come  home 
so  cross  and  so  fractious,  that  she  will  not  go  down  to  the  stable 
to  see  my  new  pony,  that  Bob  Wilson  brought  from  the  Mull 
of  Galloway.’ 

‘I  think  you  were  very  unreasonable  to  ask  her,’  said  the 
Keeper. 

‘  Then  you  are  as  cross  as  she  is,’  answered  the  boy ;  ‘  but 
when  mamma  comes  home,  she  ’ll  claw  up  both  your  mittens.’ 

‘  Hush  your  impertinence,  you  little  forward  imp !  ’  said  his 
father ;  ‘  where  is  your  tutor  ]  ’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


169 


‘  Gone  to  a  wedding  in  Dunbar ;  I  hope  he  ’ll  get  a  haggis 
to  his  dinner  ’ ;  and  he  begun  to  sing  the  old  Scottish  song  — 

‘  There  was  a  haggis  in  Dunbar, 

Fal  de  ral,  etc. 

Mony  better  and  few  waur, 

Fal  de  ral,’  etc. 

‘I  am  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Cordery  for  his  attentions,’  said 
the  Lord  Keeper ;  ‘  and  pray  who  has  had  the  charge  of  you 
while  I  was  away,  Mr.  Henry  ’ 

‘Norman  and  Bob  Wilson,  forbye  my  own  self.’ 

‘  A  groom  and  a  gamekeeper,  and  your  own  silly  self  —  proper 
guardians  for  a  young  advocate !  Why,  you  will  never  know 
any  statutes  but  those  against  shooting  red-deer,  killing  salmon, 
and - ’ 

‘And  speaking  of  red-game,’  said  the  young  scapegrace, 
interrupting  his  father  without  scruple  or  hesitation,  ‘Norman 
has  shot  a  buck,  and  I  showed  the  branches  to  Lucy,  and  she 
says  they  have  but  eight  tynes ;  and  she  says  that  you  killed 
a  deer  with  Lord  Bittlebrains’  hounds,  when  you  were  west 
away,  and,  do  you  know,  she  says  it  had  ten  tynes ;  is  it 
true  h  ’ 

‘  It  may  have  had  twenty,  Henry,  for  what  I  know ;  but  if 
you  go  to  that  gentleman,  he  can  tell  you  all  about  it.  Go 
speak  to  him,  Henry;  it  is  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.’ 

While  they  conversed  thus,  the  father  and  son  were  stand¬ 
ing  by  the  fire ;  and  the  Master,  having  walked  towards  the 
upper  end  of  the  apartment,  stood  with  his  back  towards  them, 
apparently  engaged  in  examining  one  of  the  paintings.  The 
boy  ran  up  to  him,  and  pulled  him  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat 
with  the  freedom  of  a  spoilt  child,  saying,  ‘  I  say,  sir,  if  you 

please  to  tell  me - ’  but  when  the  Master  turned  round,  and 

Henry  saw  his  face,  he  became  suddenly  and  totally  discon¬ 
certed  ;  walked  two  or  three  -steps  backward,  and  still  gazed 
on  Ravenswood  with  an  air  of  fear  and  wonder,  which  had 
totally  banished  from  his  features  their  usual  expression  of 
pert  vivacity. 

‘  Come  to  me,  young  gentleman,’  said  the  Master,  ‘and  I  will 
tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  hunt.’ 

‘Go  to  the  gentleman,  Henry,’  said  his  father;  ‘you  are  not 
used  to  be  so  shy.’ 

But  neither  invitation  nor  exhortation  had  any  effect  on  the 
boy.  On  the  contrary,  he  turned  round  as  soon  as  he  had 


170 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


completed  his  survey  of  the  Master,  and  walking  as  cautiously 
as  if  he  had  been  treading  upon  eggs,  he  glided  back  to  his 
father,  and  pressed  as  close  to  him  as  possible.  Ravenswood, 
to  avoid  hearing  the  dispute  betwixt  the  father  and  the  over¬ 
indulged  boy,  thought  it  most  polite  to  turn  his  face  once 
more  towards  the  pictures,  and  pay  no  attention  to  what  they 
said. 

4  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  the  Master,  you  little  fool  ? 7  said 
the  Lord  Keeper. 

‘I  am  afraid/  said  Henry,  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice. 

‘  Afraid,  you  goose  !  7  said  his  father,  giving  him  a  slight 
shake  by  the  collar.  ‘  What  makes  you  afraid  ?  7 

4  What  makes  him  so  like  the  picture  of  Sir  Malise  Ravens¬ 
wood,  then  1 7  said  the  boy,  whispering. 

‘  What  picture,  you  natural  % 7  said  his  father.  ‘  I  used  to 
think  you  only  a  scapegrace,  but  I  believe  you  will  turn  out 
a  born  idiot.7 

4  I  tell  you,  it  is  the  picture  of  old  Malise  of  Ravenswood, 
and  he  is  as  like  it  as  if  he  had  loupen  out  of  the  canvas ; 
and  it  is  up  in  the  old  baron’s  hall  that  the  maids  launder  the 
clothes  in  ;  and  it  has  armour,  and  not  a  coat  like  the  gentleman ; 
and  he  has  not  a  beard  and  whiskers  like  the  picture  ;  and  it 
has  another  kind  of  thing  about  the  throat,  and  no  band-strings 
as  he  has  ;  and - 7 

4  And  why  should  not  the  gentleman  be  like  his  ancestor,  you 
silly  boy  % 7  said  the  Lord  Keeper. 

4  Ay ;  but  if  he  is  come  to  chase  us  all  out  of  the  castle,7 
said  the  boy,  4  and  has  twenty  men  at  his  back  in  disguise ; 
and  is  come  to  say,  with  a  hollow  voice,  44 1  bide  my  time 77 ;  and 
is  to  kill  you  on  the  hearth  as  Malise  did  the  other  man,  and 
whose  blood  is  still  to  be  seen  ! 7 

4  Hush  !  nonsense  ! 7  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  not  himself  much 
pleased  to  hear  these  disagreeable  coincidences  forced  on  his 
notice.  ‘Master,  here  comes  Lockhard  to  say  supper  is  served.7 

And,  at  the  same  instant,  Lucy  entered  at  another  door, 
having  changed  her  dress  since  her  return.  The  exquisite 
feminine  beauty  of  her  countenance,  now  shaded  only  by  a 
profusion  of  sunny  tresses  ;  the  sylph-like  form,  disencumbered 
of  her  heavy  riding-skirt  and  mantled  in  azure  silk  ;  the  grace 
of  her  manner  and  of  her  smile,  cleared,  with  a  celerity  which 
surprised  the  Master  himself,  all  the  gloomy  and  unfavourable 
thoughts  which  had  for  some  time  overclouded  his  fancy.  In 
those  features,  so  simply  sweet,  he  could  trace  no  alliance  with 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


171 


the  pinched  visage  of  the  peak-bearded,  black-capped  Puritan, 
or  his  starched,  withered  spouse,  with  the  craft  expressed  in  the 
Lord  Keeper’s  countenance,  or  the  haughtiness  which  predomi¬ 
nated  in  that  of  his  lady ;  and,  while  he  gazed  on  Lucy  Ashton, 
she  seemed  to  be  an  angel  descended  on  earth,  un allied  to  the 
coarser  mortals  among  whom  she  deigned  to  dwell  for  a  season. 
Such  is  the  power  of  beauty  over  a  youthful  and  enthusiastic 
fancy. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


I  do  too  ill  in  this, 

And  must  not  think  but  that  a  parent’s  plaint 
Will  move  the  heavens  to  pour  forth  misery 
Upon  the  head  of  disobediency. 

Yet  reason  tells  us,  parents  are  o’erseen, 

When  with  too  strict  a  rein  they  do  hold  in 
Their  child’s  affection,  and  control  that  love, 

Which  the  high  powers  divine  inspire  them  with. 

The  Hog  hath  lost  his  Pearl. 

THE  feast  of  Ravenswood  Castle  was  as  remarkable  for 
its  profusion  as  that  of  Wolfs  Crag  had  been  for  its 
ill-veiled  penury.  The  Lord  Keeper  might  feel  internal 
pride  at  the  contrast,  but  he  had  too  much  tact  to  suffer  it  to 
appear.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  remember  with  pleasure 
what  he  called  Mr.  Baiderstone’s  bachelor’s  meal,  and  to  be 
rather  disgusted  than  pleased  with  the  display  upon  his  own 
groaning  board. 

‘We  do  these  things,’  Re  said,  ‘because  others  do  them ;  but 
I  was  bred  a  plain  man  at  my  father’s  frugal  table,  and  I  should 
like  well  would  my  wife  and  family  permit  me  to  return  to  my 
sowens  and  my  poor-man-of-mutton.’ 1 

This  was  a  little  overstretched.  The  Master  only  answered, 
‘  That  different  ranks  —  I  mean,’  said  he,  correcting  himself, 
‘  different  degrees  of  wealth  require  a  different  style  of  house¬ 
keeping.’ 

This  dry  remark  put  a  stop  to  farther  conversation  on  the 
subject,  nor  is  it  necessary  to  record  that  which  was  substituted 
in  its  place.  The  evening  was  spent  with  freedom,  and  even 
cordiality ;  and  Henry  had  so  far  overcome  his  first  apprehen¬ 
sions,  that  he  had  settled  a  party  for  coursing  a  stag  with  the 
representative  and  living  resemblance  of  grim  Sir  Malise  of 
Ravenswood,  called  the  Revenger.  The  next  morning  was  the 
appointed  time.  It  rose  upon  active  sportsmen  and  successful 
sport.  The  banquet  came  in  course ;  and  a  pressing  invitation 


1  See  Note  5. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


173 


to  tarry  yet  another  day  was  given  and  accepted.  This  Ravens- 
wood  had  resolved  should  be  the  last  of  his  stay ;  but  he  recol¬ 
lected  he  had  not  yet  visited  the  ancient  and  devoted  servant 
of  his  house,  Old  Alice,  and  it  was  but  kind  to  dedicate  one 
morning  to  the  gratification  of  so  ancient  an  adherent. 

To  visit  Alice,  therefore,  a  day  was  devoted,  and  Lucy  was 
the  Master’s  guide  upon  the  way.  Henry,  it  is  true,  accom¬ 
panied  them,  and  took  from  their  walk  the  air  of  a  tete-a-tete , 
while,  in  reality,  it  was  little  else,  considering  the  variety  of 
circumstances  which  occurred  to  prevent  the  boy  from  giving 
the  least  attention  to  what  passed  between  his  companions. 
Now  a  rook  settled  on  a  branch  within  shot;  anon  a  hare 
crossed  their  path,  and  Henry  and  his  greyhound  went  astray 
in  pursuit  of  it ;  then  he  had  to  hold  a  long  conversation  with 
the  forester,  which  detained  him  a  while  behind  his  companions  ; 
and  again  he  went  to  examine  the  earth  of  a  badger,  which 
carried  him  on  a  good  way  before  them. 

The  conversation  betwixt  the  Master  and  his  sister,  mean¬ 
while,  took  an  interesting,  and  almost  a  confidential,  turn.  She 
could  not  help  mentioning  her  sense  of  the  pain  he  must  feel  in 
visiting  scenes  so  well  known  to  him,  bearing  now  an  aspect  so 
different ;  and  so  gently  was  her  sympathy  expressed,  that 
Ravenswood  felt  it  for  a  moment  as  a  full  requital  of  all  his 
misfortunes.  Some  such  sentiment  escaped  him,  which  Lucy 
heard  with  more  of  confusion  than  displeasure ;  and  she  may 
be  forgiven  the  imprudence  of  listening  to  such  language,  con¬ 
sidering  that  the  situation  in  which  she  was  placed  by  her 
father  seemed  to  authorise  Ravenswood  to  use  it.  Yet  she 
made  an  effort  to  turn  the  conversation,  and  she  succeeded  ;  for 
the  Master  also  had  advanced  farther  than  he  intended,  and 
his  conscience  had  instantly  checked  him  when  he  found  him¬ 
self  on  the  verge  of  speaking  love  to  the  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Ashton. 

They  now  approached  the  hut  of  Old  Alice,  which  had  of  late 
been  rendered  more  comfortable,  and  presented  an  appearance 
less  picturesque,  perhaps,  but  far  neater  than  before.  The  old 
woman  was  on  her  accustomed  seat  beneath  the  weeping  birch, 
basking,  with  the  listless  enjoyment  of  age  and  infirmity,  in 
the  beams  of  the  autumn  sun.  At  the  arrival  of  her  visitors 
she  turned  her  head  towards  them.  ‘I  hear  your  step,  Miss 
Ashton,’  she  said,  ‘but  the  gentleman  who  attends  you  is  not 
my  lord,  your  father.’ 

‘  And  why  should  you  think  so,  Alice  ?  ’  said  Lucy  ;  ‘  or  how 


174 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


is  it  possible  for  you  to  judge  so  accurately  by  the  sound  of  a 
step,  on  this  firm  earth,  and  in  the  open  air  ?  ’ 

*  My  hearing,  my  child,  has  been  sharpened  by  my  blindness, 
and  I  can  now  draw  conclusions  from  the  slightest  sounds, 
which  formerly  reached  my  ears  as  unheeded  as  they  now 
approach  yours.  Necessity  is  a  stern  but  an  excellent  school¬ 
mistress,  and  she  that  has  lost  her  sight  must  collect  her  infor¬ 
mation  from  other  sources.’ 

‘Well,  you  hear  a  man’s  step,  I  grant  it,’  said  Lucy;  ‘but 
why,  Alice,  may  it  not  be  my  father’s  ?  ’ 

‘  The  pace  of  age,  my  love,  is  timid  and  cautious  :  the  foot 
takes  leave  of  the  earth  slowly,  and  is  planted  down  upon  it 
with  hesitation ;  it  is  the  hasty  and  determined  step  of  youth 
that  I  now  hear,  and  —  could  I  give  credit  to  so  strange  a 
thought — I  should  say  it  was  the  step  of  a  Ravenswood.’ 

‘This  is  indeed,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘an  acuteness  of  organ 
which  I  could  not  have  credited  had  I  not  witnessed  it.  I  am 
indeed  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  Alice  —  the  son  of  your  old 
master.  ’ 

‘You  !  ’  said  the  old  woman,  with  almost  a  scream  of  sur¬ 
prise  —  ‘  you  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  —  here  —  in  this  place, 
and  thus  accompanied  !  I  cannot  believe  it.  Let  me  pass  my  old 
hand  over  your  face,  that  my  touch  may  bear  witness  to  my  ears.’ 

The  Master  sate  down  beside  her  on  the  earthen  bank,  and 
permitted  her  to  touch  his  features  with  her  trembling  hand. 

‘ It  is  indeed  !  ’  she  said  —  ‘it  is  the  features  as  well  as  the 
voice  of  Ravenswood  —  the  high  lines  of  pride,  as  well  as  the 
bold  and  haughty  tone.  But  what  do  you  here,  Master  of 
Ravenswood  ?  —  what  do  you  in  your  enemy’s  domain,  and  in 
company  with  his  child  'l  ’ 

As  Old  Alice  spoke,  her  face  kindled,  as  probably  that  of  an 
ancient  feudal  vassal  might  have  done  in  whose  presence  his 
youthful  liege-lord  had  showed  some  symptom  of  degenerating 
from  the  spirit  of  his  ancestors. 

‘The  Master  of  Ravenswood,’  said  Lucy,  who  liked  not  the 
tone  of  this  expostulation,  and  was  desirous  to  abridge  it,  ‘  is 
upon  a  visit  to  my  father.’ 

‘  Indeed  !  ’  said  the  old  blind  woman,  in  an  accent  of  surprise. 

‘  I  knew,’  continued  Lucy,  ‘  I  should  do  him  a  pleasure  by 
conducting  him  to  your  cottage.’ 

‘Where,  to  say  the  truth,  Alice,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘I 
expected  a  more  cordial  reception.’ 

‘  It  is  most  wonderful !  ’  said  the  old  woman,  muttering  to 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


175 


herself ;  ‘  but  the  ways  of  Heaven  are  not  like  our  ways,  and 
its  judgments  are  brought  about  by  means  far  beyond  our 
fathoming.  Hearken,  young  man,’  she  said ;  ‘  your  fathers  were 
implacable,  but  they  were  honourable,  foes ;  they  sought  not  to 
ruin  their  enemies  under  the  mask  of  hospitality.  What  have 
you  to  do  with  Lucy  Ashton  ?  why  should  your  steps  move  in 
the  same  footpath  with  hers  ?  why  should  your  voice  sound  in 
the  same  chord  and  time  with  those  of  Sir  William  Ashton’s 
daughter  1  Young  man,  he  who  aims  at  revenge  by  dishonour¬ 
able  means - ’ 

‘  Be  silent,  woman !  ’  said  Ravenswood,  sternly ;  ‘  is  it  the 
devil  that  prompts  your  voice  ?  Know  that  this  young  lady  has 
not  on  earth  a  friend  who  would  venture  farther  to  save  her 
from  injury  or  from  insult.’ 

‘  And  is  it  even  so  %  ’  said  the  old  woman,  in  an  altered  but 
melancholy  tone,  ‘  then  God  help  you  both !  ’ 

‘Amen!  Alice,’  said  Lucy,  who  had  not  comprehended  the 
import  of  what  the  blind  woman  had  hinted,  ‘and  send  you 
your  senses,  Alice,  and  your  good-humour.  If  you  hold  this 
mysterious  language,  instead  of  welcoming  your  friends,  they 
will  think  of  you  as  other  people  do.’ 

‘  And  how  do  other  people  think  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood,  for  he 
also  began  to  believe  the  old  woman  spoke  with  incoherence. 

‘They  think,’  said  Henry  Ashton,  who  came  up  at  that 
moment,  and  whispered  into  Ravenswood’s  ear,  ‘  that  she  is  a 
witch,  that  should  have  been  burned  with  them  that  suffered 
at  Haddington.’ 

‘  What  is  that  you  say  1  ’  said  Alice,  turning  towards  the  boy, 
her  sightless  visage  inflamed  with  passion ;  ‘  that  I  am  a  witch, 
and  ought  to  have  suffered  with  the  helpless  old  wretches  who 
were  murdered  at  Haddington  ?  ’ 

‘  Hear  to  that  now,’  again  whispered  Henry,  ‘  and  me  whis¬ 
pering  lower  than  a  wren  cheeps  !  ’ 

‘  If  the  usurer,  and  the  oppressor,  and  the  grinder  of  the 
poor  man’s  face,  and  the  remover  of  ancient  landmarks,  and 
the  subverter  of  ancient  houses,  were  at  the  same  stake  with 
me,  I  could  say,  “  Light  the  fire,  in  God’s  name  !  ”  ’ 

‘This  is  dreadful,’  said  Lucy;  ‘I  have  never  seen  the  poor 
deserted  woman  in  this  state  of  mind  ;  but  age  and  poverty  can 
ill  bear  reproach.  Come,  Henry,  we  will  leave  her  for  the 
present ;  she  wishes  to  speak  with  the  Master  alone.  We  will 
walk  homeward,  and  rest  us,’  see  added,  looking  at  Ravenswood, 

‘  by  the  Mermaiden’s  Well.’ 


176 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘And  Alice,’  said  the  boy,  ‘if  you  know  of  any  hare  that 
comes  through  among  the  deer,  and  makes  them  drop  their 
calves  out  of  season,  you  may  tell  her,  with  my  compliments  to 
command,  that  if  Norman  has  not  got  a  silver  bullet  ready  for 
her,  1 11  lend  him  one  of  my  doublet-buttons  on  purpose.’ 

Alice  made  no  answer  till  she  was  aware  that  the  sister  and 
brother  were  out  of  hearing.  She  then  said  to  Ravenswood, 
‘And  you,  too,  are  angry  with  me  for  my  love  1  It  is  just  that 
strangers  should  be  offended,  but  you,  too,  are  angry  !  ’ 

‘I  am  not  angry,  Alice,’  said  the  Master,  ‘only  surprised 
that  you,  whose  good  sense  I  have  heard  so  often  praised,  should 
give  way  to  offensive  and  unfounded  suspicions.’ 

‘  Offensive  !  ’  said  Alice.  ‘  Ay,  truth  is  ever  offensive ;  but, 
surely,  not  unfounded.’ 

‘  I  tell  you,  dame,  most  groundless,’  replied  Ravenswood. 

‘  Then  the  world  has  changed  its  wont,  and  the  Ravenswoods 
their  hereditary  temper,  and  the  eyes  of  Old.  Alice’s  understand¬ 
ing  are  yet  more  blind  than  those  of  her  countenance.  When 
did  a  Ravenswood  seek  the  house  of  his  enemy  but  with  the 
purpose  of  revenge  1  and  hither  are  you  come,  Edgar  Ravens¬ 
wood,  either  in  fatal  anger  or  in  still  more  fatal  love.’ 

‘In  neither,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘I  give  you  mine  honour  —  I 
mean,  I  assure  you.’ 

Alice  could  not  see  his  blushing  cheek,  but  she  noticed  his 
hesitation,  and  that  he  retracted  the  pledge  which  he  seemed 
at  first  disposed  to  attach  to  his  denial. 

‘  It  is  so,  then,’  she  said,  ‘  and  therefore  she  is  to  tarry  by 
the  Mermaiden’s  Well !  Often  has  it  been  called  a  place  fatal 
to  the  race  of  Ravenswood  —  often  has  it  proved  so  ;  but  never 
was  it  likely  to  verify  old  sayings  as  much  as  on  this  day.’ 

‘You  drive  me  to  madness,  Alice,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘you 
are  more  silly  and  more  superstitious  than  old  Balderstone. 
Are  you  such  a  wretched  Christian  as  to  suppose  I  would  in  the 
present  day  levy  war  against  the  Ashton  family,  as  was  the 
sanguinary  custom  in  elder  times  ?  or  do  you  suppose  me  so 
foolish,  that  I  cannot  walk  by  a  young  lady’s  side  without 
plunging  headlong  in  love  with  her  ?  ’ 

‘  My  thoughts,’  replied  Alice,  ‘  are  my  own  ;  and  if  my  mortal 
sight  is  closed  to  objects  present  with  me,  it  may  he  I  can  look 
with  more  steadiness  into  future  events.  Are  you  prepared  to 
sit  lowest  at  the  board  which  was  once  your  father’s  own,  un¬ 
willingly,  as  a  connexion  and  ally  of  his  proud  successor  Are 
you  ready  to  live  on  his  bounty  ;  to  follow  him  in  the  bye-paths 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


177 


of  intrigue  and  chicane,  which  none  can  better  point  out  to 
you ;  to  gnaw  the  bones  of  his  prey  when  he  has  devoured  the 
substance  'l  Can  you  say  as  Sir  William  Ashton  says,  think  as 
he  thinks,  vote  as  he  votes,  and  call  your  father’s  murderer 
your  worshipful  father-in-law  and  revered  patron  ?  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  I  am  the  eldest  servant  of  your  house,  and  I  would 
rather  see  you  shrouded  and  coffined  ! ’ 

The  tumult  in  Ravenswood’s  mind  was  uncommonly  great; 
she  struck  upon  and  awakened  a  chord  which  he  had  for  some 
time  successfully  silenced.  He  strode  backwards  and  forwards 
through  the  little  garden  writh  a  hasty  pace ;  and  at  length 
checking  himself,  and  stopping  right  opposite  to  Alice,  he  ex¬ 
claimed,  ‘  W oman !  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  dare  you  urge 
the  son  of  your  master  to  blood  and  to  revenge  1 7 

‘  God  forbid  !  ’  said  Alice,  solemnly ;  ‘  and  therefore  I  would 
have  you  depart  these  fatal  bounds,  where  your  love,  as  well  as 
your  hatred,  thioatens  sure  mischief,  or  at  least  disgrace,  both 
to  yourself  and  to  others.  I  would  shield,  were  it  in  the  power 
of  this  withered  hand,  the  Ashtons  from  you,  and  you  from  them, 
and  both  from  their  own  passions.  You  can  have  nothing  — 
ought  to  have  nothing,  in  common  with  them.  Begone  from 
among  them;  and  if  God  has  destined  vengeance  on  the  op¬ 
pressor’s  house,  do  not  you  be  the  instrument.’ 

£  I  will  think  on  what  you  have  said,  Alice,’  said  Ravenswood, 
more  composedly.  ‘  I  believe  you  mean  truly  and  faithfully  by 
me,  but  you  urge  the  freedom  of  an  ancient  domestic  somewhat 
too  far.  But  farewell ;  and  if  Heaven  afford  me  better  means, 
I  will  not  fail  to  contribute  to  your  comfort.’ 

He  attempted  to  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  her  hand,  which 
she  refused  to  receive ;  and,  in  the  slight  struggle  attending  his 
wish  to  force  it  upon  her,  it  dropped  to  the  earth. 

‘  Let  it  remain  an  instant  on  the  ground,  ’  said  Alice,  as  the 
Master  stooped  to  raise  it ;  ‘  and  believe  me,  that  piece  of  gold 
is  an  emblem  of  her  whom  you  love ;  she  is  as  precious,  I  grant, 
but  you  must  stoop  even  to  abasement  before  you  can  win  her. 
For  me,  I  have  as  little  to  do  with  gold  as  with  earthly  passions ; 
and  the  best  new^s  that  the  world  has  in  store  for  me  is,  that 
Edgar  Ravenswood  is  a  hundred  miles  distant  from  the  seat  of 
his  ancestors,  with  the  determination  never  again  to  behold  it.’ 

‘Alice,’  said  the  Master,  who  began  to  think  this  earnestness 
had  some  more  secret  cause  than  arose  from  anything  that  the 
blind  woman  could  have  gathered  from  this  casual  visit,  ‘  I 
have  heard  you  praised  by  my  mother  for  your  sense,  acuteness, 

VOL.  VIII  — 12 


r 


178 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  fidelity ;  you  are  no  fool  to  start  at  shadows,  or  to  dread 
old  superstitious  saws,  like  Caleb  Balderstone ;  tell  me  distinctly 
where  my  danger  lies,  if  you  are  aware  of  any  which  is  tending 
towards  me.  If  I  know  myself,  I  am  free  from  all  such  views 
respecting  Miss  Ashton  as  you  impute  to  me.  I  have  neces¬ 
sary  business  to  settle  with  Sir  William ;  that  arranged,  I  shall 
depart,  and  with  as  little  wish,  as  you  may  easily  believe,  to 
return  to  a  place  full  of  melancholy  subjects  of  reflection,  as 
you  have  to  see  me  here.’ 

Alice  bent  her  sightless  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  was  for 
some  time  plunged  in  deep  meditation.  ‘I  will  speak  the 
truth,’  she  said  at  length,  raising  up  her  head  —  ‘I  will  tell 
you  the  source  of  my  apprehensions,  whether  my  candour 
be  for  good  or  for  evil.  Lucy  Ashton  loves  you,  Lord  of 
Ravenswood !  ’ 

‘  It  is  impossible,’  said  the  Master. 

‘A  thousand  circumstances  have  proved  it  to  me,’  replied 
the  blind  woman.  4  Her  thoughts  have  turned  on  no  one  else 
since  you  saved  her  from  death,  and  that  my  experienced 
judgment  has  won  from  her  own  conversation.  Having  told 
you  this  —  if  you  are  indeed  a  gentleman  and  your  father’s  son 
—  you  will  make  it  a  motive  for  flying  from  her  presence.  Her 
passion  will  die  like  a  lamp  for  want  of  that  the  flame  should 
feed  upon;  but,  if  you  remain  here,  her  destruction,  or  yours, 
or  that  of  both,  will  be  the  inevitable  consequence  of  her 
misplaced  attachment.  I  tell  you  this  secret  unwillingly,  but 
it  could  not  have  been  hid  long  from  your  own  observation, 
and  it  is  better  you  learn  it  from  mine.  Depart,  Master  of 
Ravenswood ;  you  have  my  secret.  If  you  remain  an  hour 
under  Sir  William  Ashton’s  roof  without  the  resolution  to 
marry  his  daughter,  you  are  a  villain ;  if  with  the  purpose  of 
allying  yourself  with  him,  you  are  an  infatuated  and  pre¬ 
destined  fool.’ 

So  saying,  the  old  blind  woman  arose,  assumed  her  staff, 
and,  tottering  to  her  hut,  entered  it  and  closed  the  door, 
leaving  Ravenswood  to  his  own  reflections. 


CHAPTER  XX 


Lovelier  in  her  own  retired  abode 
.  .  .  than  Naiad  by  the  side 

Of  Grecian  brook  —  or  Lady  of  the  Mere 
Lone  sitting  by  the  shores  of  old  romance.  * 

Wordsworth. 

THE  meditations  of  Ravenswood  were  of  a  very  mixed 
complexion.  He  saw  himself  at  once  in  the  very  di¬ 
lemma  which  he  had  for  some  time  felt  apprehensive  he 
might  be  placed  in.  The  pleasure  he  felt  in  Lucy’s  company 
had  indeed  approached  to  fascination,  yet  it  had  never  altogether 
surmounted  his  internal  reluctance  to  wed  with  the  daughter  of 
his  father’s  foe ;  and  even  in  forgiving  Sir  William  Ashton  the 
injuries  which  his  family  had  received,  and  giving  him  credit 
for  the  kind  intentions  he  professed  to  entertain,  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  contemplate  as  possible  an  alliance  betwixt 
their  houses.  Still,  he  felt  that  Alice  spoke  truth,  and  that 
his  honour  now  required  he  should  take  an  instant  leave  of 
Ravenswood  Castle,  or  become  a  suitor  of  Lucy  Ashton.  The 
possibility  of  being  rejected,  too,  should  he  make  advances  to 
her  wealthy  and  powerful  father  —  to  sue  for  the  hand  of  an 
Ashton  and  be  refused  —  this  were  a  consummation  too  dis¬ 
graceful.  ‘I  wish  her  well,’  he  said  to  himself,  ‘  and  for  her 
sake  I  forgive  the  injuries  her  father  has  done  to  my  house ; 
but  I  will  never  —  no,  never  see  her  more  !  ’ 

With  one  bitter  pang  he  adopted  this  resolution,  just  as  he 
came  to  where  two  paths  parted  :  the  one  to  the  Mermaiden’s 
Fountain,  where  he  knew  Lucy  waited  him,  the  other  leading 
to  the  castle  by  another  and  more  circuitous  road.  He  paused 
an  instant  when  about  to  take  the  latter  path,  thinking  what 
apology  he  should  make  for  conduct  which  must  needs  seem 
extraordinary,  and  had  just  muttered  to  himself,  ‘Sudden 
news  from  Edinburgh  —  any  pretext  will  serve ;  only  let  me 
dally  no  longer  here,’  when  young  Henry  came  flying  up  to 


180 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


him,  half  out  of  breath  —  ‘  Master,  Master,  you  must  give  Lucy 
your  arm  back  to  the  castle,  for  I  cannot  give  her  mine ;  for 
Norman  is  waiting  for  me,  and  I  am  to  go  with  him  to  make 
his  ring- walk,  and  I  would  not  stay  away  for  a  gold  Jacobus  ; 
and  Lucy  is  afraid  to  walk  home  alone,  though  all  the  wild 
nowt  have  been  shot,  and  so  you  must  come  away  directly.’ 

Betwixt  two  scales  equally  loaded,  a  feather’s  weight  will 
turn  the  scale.  ‘It  is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  the  young 
lady  in  the  wood  alone,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘to  see  her  once 
more  can  be  of  little  consequence,  after  the  frequent  meetings 
we  have  had.  I  ought,  too,  in  courtesy,  to  apprise  her  of  my 
intention  to  quit  the  castle.’ 

And  having  thus  satisfied  himself  that  he  was  taking  not 
only  a  wise,  but  an  absolutely  necessary,  step,  he  took  the  path 
to  the  fatal  fountain.  Henry  no  sooner  saw7  him  on  the  way 
to  join  his  sister  than  he  was  off  like  lightning  in  another 
direction,  to  enjoy  the  society  of  the  forester  in  their  congenial 
pursuits.  Ravenswood,  not  allowing  himself  to  give  a  second 
thought  to  the  propriety  of  his  own  conduct,  walked  with  a 
quick  step  towards  the  stream,  where  he  found  Lucy  seated 
alone  by  the  ruin. 

She  sate  upon  one  of  the  disjointed  stones  of  the  ancient 
fountain,  and  seemed  to  watch  the  progress  of  its  current,  as  it 
bubbled  forth  to  daylight,  in  gay  and  sparkling  profusion,  from 
under  the  shadow  of  the  ribbed  and  darksome  vault,  with 
which  veneration,  or  perhaps  remorse,  had  canopied  its  source. 
To  a  superstitious  eye,  Lucy  Ashton,  folded  in  her  plaided 
mantle,  with  her  long  hair,  escaping  partly  from  the  snood  and 
falling  upon  her  silver  neck,  might  have  suggested  the  idea  of 
the  murdered  Nymph  of  the  Fountain.  But  Ravenswood  only 
saw  a  female  exquisitely  beautiful,  and  rendered  yet  more  so 
in  his  eyes  —  how  could  it  be  otherwise  1  —  by  the  consciousness 
that  she  had  placed  her  affections  on  him.  As  he  gazed  on  her, 
he  felt  his  fixed  resolution  melting  like  wax  in  the  sun,  and 
hastened,  therefore,  from  his  concealment  in  the  neighbouring 
thicket.  She  saluted  him,  but  did  not  arise  from  the  stone  on 
which  she  was  seated. 

‘  My  madcap  brother,’  she  said,  ‘  has  left  me,  but  I  expect 
him  back  in  a  few  minutes ;  for,  fortunately,  as  anything 
pleases  him  for  a  minute,  nothing  has  charms  for  him  much 
longer.’ 

Ravenswood  did  not  feel  the  power  of  informing  Lucy  that 
her  brother  jnedit&ted  a  distant  excursion,  and  would  not 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


181 


return  in  haste.  He  sate  himself  down  on  the  grass,  at  some 
little  distance  from  Miss  Ashton,  and  both  were  silent  for  a 
short  space. 

‘I  like  this  spot,’  said  Lucy  at  length,  as  if  she  had  found 
the  silence  embarrassing ;  ‘  the  bubbling  murmur  of  the  clear 
fountain,  the  waving  of  the  trees,  the  profusion  of  grass  and 
wild-flowers  that  rise  among  the  ruins,  make  it  like  a  scene  in 
romance.  I  think,  too,  I  have  heard  it  is  a  spot  connected  with 
the  legendary  lore  which  I  love  so  well.’ 

‘It  has  been  thought,’  answered  Ravenswood,  ‘a  fatal  spot 
to  my  family ;  and  I  have  some  reason  to  term  it  so,  for  it  was 
here  I  first  saw  Miss  Ashton ;  and  it  is  here  I  must  take  my 
leave  of  her  for  ever.’ 

The  blood,  which  the  first  part  of  this  speech  called  into 
Lucy’s  cheeks,  was  speedily  expelled  by  its  conclusion. 

‘  To  take  leave  of  us,  Master !  ’  she  exclaimed ;  ‘  what  can 
have  happened  to  hurry  you  away  ?  I  know  Alice  hates  —  I 
mean  dislikes  my  father ;  and  I  hardly  understood  her  humour 
to-day,  it  was  so  mysterious.  But  I  am  certain  my  father  is 
sincerely  grateful  for  the  high  service  you  rendered  us.  Let 
me  hope  that,  having  won  your  friendship  hardly,  we  shall  not 
lose  it  lightly.’ 

‘  Lose  it,  Miss  Ashton !  ’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 
‘No;  wherever  my  fortune  calls  me  —  whatever  she  inflicts 
upon  me  —  it  is  your  friend  —  your  sincere  friend,  who  acts  or 
suffers.  But  there  is  a  fate  on  me,  and  I  must  go,  or  I  shall 
add  the  ruin  of  others  to  my  own.’ 

‘Yet  do  not  go  from  us,  Master,’  said  Lucy;  and  she  laid  her 
hand,  in  all  simplicity  and  kindness,  upon  the  skirt  of  his  cloak, 
as  if  to  detain  him.  ‘  You  shall  not  part  from  us.  My  father 
is  powerful,  he  has  friends  that  are  more  so  than  himself ;  do 
not  go  till  you  see  what  his  gratitude  will  do  for  you.  Believe 
me,  he  is  already  labouring  in  your  behalf  with  the  council.’ 

‘It  may  be  so,’  said  the  Master,  proudly;  ‘yet  it  is  not  to 
your  father,  Miss  Ashton,  but  to  my  own  exertions,  that  I 
ought  to  owe  success  in  the  career  on  which  I  am  about  to 
enter.  My  preparations  are  already  made  —  a  sword  and  a 
cloak,  and  a  bold  heart  and  a  determined  hand.’ 

Lucy  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  tears,  in  spite 
of  her,  forced  their  way  between  her  fingers. 

‘Forgive  me,’  said  Ravenswood,  taking  her  right  hand, 
which,  after  slight  resistance,  she  yielded  to  him,  still  continu¬ 
ing  to  shade  her  face  with  the  left  —  ‘lam  too  rude  —  too  rough 


182 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


- —  too  intractable  to  deal  with  any  being  so  soft  and  gentle  as 
yon  are.  Forget  that  so  stern  a  vision  has  crossed  your  path 
of  life ;  and  let  me  pursue  mine,  sure  that  I  can  meet  with  no 
worse  misfortune  after  the  moment  it  divides  me  from  your  side.’ 

Lucy  wept  on,  but  her  tears  were  less  bitter.  Each  attempt 
which  the  Master  made  to  explain  his  purpose  of  departure  only 
proved  a  new  evidence  of  his  desire  to  stay ;  until,  at  length, 
instead  of  bidding  her  farewell,  he  gave  his  faith  to  her  for  ever, 
and  received  her  troth  in  return.  The  whole  passed  so  suddenly, 
and  arose  so  much  out  of  the  immediate  impulse  of  the  moment, 
that  ere  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  reflect  upon  the  con¬ 
sequences  of  the  step  which  he  had  taken,  their  lips,  as  well  as 
their  hands,  had  pledged  the  sincerity  of  their  affection. 

‘And  now,’  he  said,  after  a  moment’s  consideration,  ‘it  is  fit 
I  should  speak  to  Sir  William  Ashton ;  he  must  know  of  our 
engagement.  Ravenswood  must  not  seem  to  dwell  under  his 
roof  to  solicit  clandestinely  the  affections  of  his  daughter.’ 

‘You  would  not  speak  to  my  father  on  the  subject?’  said 
Lucy,  doubtingly  ;  and  then  added  more  warmly,  ‘  0  do  not  — 
do  not !  Let  your  lot  in  life  be  determined  —  your  station 
and  purpose  ascertained,  before  you  address  my  father.  I  am 
sure  he  loves  you  —  I  think  he  will  consent ;  but  then  my 
mother - !  ’ 

She  paused,  ashamed  to  express  the  doubt  she  felt  how  far 
her  father  dared  to  form  any  positive  resolution  on  this  most 
important  subject  without  the  consent  of  his  lady. 

‘  Your  mother,  my  Lucy !  ’  replied  Ravenswood.  ‘  She  is  of 
the  house  of  Douglas,  a  house  that  has  intermarried  with  mine 
even  when  its  glory  and  power  were  at  the  highest ;  what 
could  your  mother  object  to  my  alliance?’ 

‘I  did  not  say  object,’  said  Lucy;  ‘but  she  is  jealous  of  her 
rights,  and  may  claim  a  mother’s  title  to  be  consulted  in  the 
first  instance.’ 

‘Be  it  so,’  replied  Ravenswood.  ‘London  is  distant,  but  a 
letter  will  reach  it  and  receive  an  answer  within  a  fortnight ; 
I  will  not  press  on  the  Lord  Keeper  for  an  instant  reply  to  my 
proposal.’ 

‘But,’  hesitated  Lucy,  ‘were  it  not  better  to  wait  —  to  wait 
a  few  weeks?  Were  my  mother  to  see  you  —  to  know  you,  I 
am  sure  she  would  approve ;  but  you  are  unacquainted  person¬ 
ally,  and  the  ancient  feud  between  the  families - ’ 

Ravenswood  fixed  upon  her  his  keen  dark  eyes,  as  if  he  was 
desirous  of  penetrating  into  her  very  soul. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


183 


‘Lucy/  he  said,  ‘I  have  sacrificed  to  you  projects  of 
vengeance  long  nursed,  and  sworn  to  with  ceremonies  little 
better  than  heathen  —  I  sacrificed  them  to  your  image,  ere  I 
knew  the  worth  which  it  represented.  In  the  evening  which 
succeeded  my  poor  father’s  funeral,  I  cut  a  lock  from  my  hair, 
and,  as  it  consumed  in  the  fire,  I  swore  that  my  rage  and  re¬ 
venge  should  pursue  his  enemies,  until  they  shrivelled  before 
me  like  that  scorched- up  symbol  of  annihilation.’ 

‘  It  was  a  deadly  sin,’  said  Lucy,  turning  pale,  ‘  to  make  a 
vow  so  fatal.’ 

‘I  acknowledge  it,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘and  it  had  been  a 
worse  crime  to  keep  it.  It  was  for  your  sake  that  I  abjured 
these  purposes  of  vengeance,  though  I  scarce  knew  that  such 
was  the  argument  by  which  I  was  conquered,  until  I  saw  you 
once  more,  and  became  conscious  of  the  influence  you  possessed 
over  me.’ 

‘And  why  do  you  now,’  said  Lucy,  ‘recall  sentiments  so 
terrible  —  sentiments  so  inconsistent  with  those  you  profess  for 
me  —  with  those  your  importunity  has  prevailed  on  me  to 
acknowledge  ?  ’ 

‘  Because,’  said  her  lover,  ‘  I  would  impress  on  you  the  price 
at  which  I  have  bought  your  love  —  the  right  I  have  to  expect 
your  constancy.  I  say  not  that  I  have  bartered  for  it  the 
honour  of  my  house,  its  last  remaining  ■  possession ;  but  though 
I  say  it  not,  and  think  it  not,  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself  that 
the  world  may  do  both.’ 

‘If  such  are  your  sentiments,’  said  Lucy,  ‘you  have  played 
a  cruel  game  with  me.  But  it  is  not  too  late  to  give  it  over  : 
take  back  the  faith  and  troth  which  you  could  not  plight  to  me 
without  suffering  abatement  of  honour  —  let  what  is  passed  be 
as  if  it  had  not  been  —  forget  me ;  I  will  endeavour  to  forget 
myself.’ 

‘You  do  me  injustice,’  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood —  ‘by 
all  I  hold  true  and  honourable,  you  do  me  the  extremity  of 
inj  ustice ;  if  I  mentioned  the  price  at  which  I  have  bought 
your  love,  it  is  only  to  show  how  much  I  prize  it,  to  bind  our 
engagement  by  a  still  firmer  tie,  and  to  show,  by  what  I  have 
done  to  attain  this  station  in  your  regard,  how  much  I  must 
suffer  should  you  ever  break  your  faith.’ 

‘  And  why,  Ravenswood,’  answered  Lucy,  ‘  should  you  think 
that  possible  ?  Why  should  you  urge  me  with  even  the  mention 
of  infidelity  1  Is  it  because  I  ask  you  to  delay  applying  to  my 
father  for  a  little  space  of  time  %  Bind  me  by  what  vows  you 


184 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


please ;  if  vows  are  unnecessary  to  secure  constancy,  they  may 
yet  prevent  suspicion/ 

Ravenswood  pleaded,  apologised,  and  even  kneeled,  to  ap¬ 
pease  her  displeasure  ;  and  Lucy,  as  placable  as  she  was  single- 
hearted,  readily  forgave  the  offence  which  his  doubts  had 
implied.  The  dispute  thus  agitated,  however,  ended  by  the 
lovers  going  through  an  emblematic  ceremony  of  their  troth- 
plight,  of  wThich  the  vulgar  still  preserve  some  traces.  They 
broke  betwixt  them  the  thin  broad-piece  of  gold  which  Alice 
had  refused  to  receive  from  Ravenswood. 

‘And  never  shall  this  leave  my  bosom,’  said  Lucy,  as  she  hung 
the  piece  of  gold  round  her  neck,  and  concealed  it  with  her 
handkerchief,  ‘  until  you,  Edgar  Ravenswood,  ask  me  to  resign 
it  to  you ;  and,  while  I  wear  it,  never  shall  that  heart  acknowl¬ 
edge  another  love  than  yours.7 

With  like  protestations,  Ravenswood  placed  his  portion  of 
the  coin  opposite  to  his  heart.  And  now,  at  length,  it  struck 
them  that  time  had  hurried  fast  on  during  this  interview, 
and  their  absence  at  the  castle  would  be  subject  of  remark,  if 
not  of  alarm.  As  they  arose  to  leave  the  fountain  which  had 
been  witness  of  their  mutual  engagement,  an  arrow  whistled 
through  the  air,  and  struck  a  raven  perched  on  the  sere  branch 
of  an  old  oak,  near  to  where  they  had  been  seated.  The  bird 
fluttered  a  few  yards  and  dropped  at  the  feet  of  Lucy,  whose 
dress  was  stained  with  some  spots  of  its  blood. 

Miss  Ashton  was  much  alarmed,  and  Ravenswood,  surprised 
and  angry,  looked  everywhere  for  the  marksman,  who  had 
given  them  a  proof  of  his  skill  as  little  expected  as  desired. 
He  was  not  long  of  discovering  himself,  being  no  other  than 
Henry  Ashton,  who  came  running  up  with  a  crossbow  in  his 
hand. 

‘I  knew  I  should  startle  you,7  he  said;  ‘and  do  you  know, 
you  looked  so  busy  that  I  hoped  it  would  have  fallen  souse  on 
your  heads  before  you  were  aware  of  it.  What  was  the  Master 
saying  to  you,  Lucy  1 7 

‘  I  was  telling  your  sister  what  an  idle  lad  you  were,  keeping 
us  waiting  here  for  you  so  long,7  said  Ravenswood,  to  save 
Lucy’s  confusion. 

‘  Waiting  for  me  !  Why,  I  told  you  to  see  Lucy  home,  and 
that  I  was  to  go  to  make  the  ring- walk  with  old  Norman  in  the 
Hayberry  thicket,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  would  take  a  good 
hour,  and  we  have  all  the  deer’s  marks  and  furnishes  got,  while 
you  were  sitting  here  with  Lucy,  like  a  lazy  loon.7 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


185 


‘Well,  well,  Mr.  Henry,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘but  let  us  see 
how  you  will  answer  to  me  for  killing  the  raven.  Do  you  know, 
the  ravens  are  all  under  the  protection  of  the  Lords  of  Ravens- 
wood,  and  to  kill  one  in  their  presence  is  such  bad  luck  that 
it  deserves  the  stab  1  ’ 

‘And  that’s  what  Norman  said,’  replied  the  boy;  ‘he  came 
as  far  with  me  as  within  a  flight-shot  of  you,  and  he  said  he 
never  saw  a  raven  sit  still  so  near  living  folk,  and  he  wished  it 
might  be  for  good  luck,  for  the  raven  is  one  of  the  wildest 
birds  that  flies,  unless  it  be  a  tame  one  ;  and  so  I  crept  on  and 
on,  till  I  was  within  threescore  yards  of  him,  and  then  whiz 
went  the  bolt,  and  there  he  lies,  faith  !  Was  it  not  well  shot  ? 
and,  I  daresay,  I  have  not  shot  in  a  crossbow  —  not  ten  times, 
maybe.’ 

‘Admirably  shot,  indeed,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘and  you  will 
be  a  fine  marksman  if  you  practise  hard.’ 

‘And  that’s  what  Norman  says,’  answered  the  boy;  ‘but  I 
am  sure  it  is  not  my  fault  if  I  do  not  practise  enough ;  for,  of 
free  will,  I  would  do  little  else,  only  my  father  and  tutor  are 
angry  sometimes,  and  only  Miss  Lucy  there  gives  herself  airs 
about  my  being  busy,  for  all  she  can  sit  idle  by  a  well-side 
the  whole  day,  when  she  has  a  handsome  young  gentleman  to 
prate  with.  I  have  known  her  do  so  twenty  times,  if  you  will 
believe  me.’ 

The  boy  looked  at  his  sister  as  he  spoke,  and,  in  the  midst 
of  his  mischievous  chatter,  had  the  sense  to  see  that  he  was 
really  inflicting  pain  upon  her,  though  without  being  able  to 
comprehend  the  cause  or  the  amount. 

‘  Come  now,  Lucy,’  he  said,  ‘don’t  greet;  and  if  I  have  said 
anything  beside  the  mark,  I  ’ll  deny  it  again ;  and  what  does 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood  care  if  you  had  a  hundred  sweet¬ 
hearts  'i  so  ne’er  put  finger  in  your  eye  about  it.’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  was,  for  the  moment,  scarce 
satisfied  with  what  he  heard ;  yet  his  good  sense  naturally  re¬ 
garded  it  as  the  chatter  of  a  spoilt  boy,  who  strove  to  mortify 
his  sister  in  the  point  which  seemed  most  accessible  for  the 
time.  But,  although  of  a  temper  equally  slow  in  receiving  im¬ 
pressions  and  obstinate  in  retaining  them,  the  prattle  of  Henry 
served  to  nourish  in  his  mind  some  vague  suspicion  that  his 
present  engagement  might  only  end  in  his  being  exposed, 
like  a  conquered  enemy  in  a  Roman  triumph,  a  captive  at¬ 
tendant  on  the  car  of  a  victor  who  meditated  only  the  satiat¬ 
ing  his  pride  at  the  expense  of  the  vanquished.  There  was,  we 


186 


THE  BBIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


repeat  it,  no  real  ground  whatever  for  such  an  apprehension, 
nor  could  he  be  said  seriously  to  entertain  such  for  a  moment. 
Indeed,  it  was  impossible  to  look  at  the  clear  blue  eye  of  Lucy 
Ashton,  and  entertain  the  slightest  permanent  doubt  concerning 
the  sincerity  of  her  disposition.  Still,  however,  conscious  pride 
and  conscious  poverty  combined  to  render  a  mind  suspicious 
which,  in  more  fortunate  circumstances,  would  have  been  a 
stanger  to  that  as  well  as  to  every  other  meanness. 

They  reached  the  castle,  where  Sir  William  Ashton,  who  had 
been  alarmed  by  the  length  of  their  stay,  met  them  in  the 
hall. 

‘Had  Lucy,’  he  said,  ‘been  in  any  other  company  than  that 
of  one  who  had  shown  he  had  so  complete  power  of  protecting 
her,  he  confessed  he  should  have  been  very  uneasy,  and  would 
have  despatched  persons  in  quest  of  them.  But,  in  the  com¬ 
pany  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  he  knew  his  daughter  had 
nothing  to  dread.’ 

Lucy  commenced  some  apology  for  their  long  delay,  but, 
conscience-struck,  became  confused  as  she  proceeded  ;  and  when 
Ravenswood,  coming  to  her  assistance,  endeavoured  to  render 
the  explanation  complete  and  satisfactory,  he  only  involved 
himself  in  the  same  disorder,  like  one  who,  endeavouring  to 
extricate  his  companion  from  a  slough,  entangles  himself  in  the 
same  tenacious  swamp.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  con¬ 
fusion  of  the  two  youthful  lovers  escaped  the  observation  of  the 
subtle  lawyer,  accustomed,  by  habit  and  profession,  to  trace 
human  nature  through  all  her  windings.  But  it  was  not  his 
present  policy  to  take  any  notice  of  what  he  observed.  He 
desired  to  hold  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  bound,  but  wished 
that  he  himself  should  remain  free  ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  his  plan  might  be  defeated  by  Lucy’s  returning  the 
passion  which  he  hoped  she  might  inspire.  If  she  should  adopt 
some  romantic  feelings  towards  Ravenswood,  in  which  circum¬ 
stances,  or  the  positive  and  absolute  opposition  of  Lady  Ashton, 
might  render  it  unadvisable  to  indulge  her,  the  Lord  Keeper 
conceived  they  might  be  easily  superseded  and  annulled  by  a 
journey  to  Edinburgh,  or  even  to  London,  a  new  set  of  Brussels 
lace,  and  the  soft  whispers  of  half  a  dozen  lovers,  anxious  to 
replace  him  whom  it  was  convenient  she  should  renounce.  This 
was  his  provision  for  the  worst  view  of  the  case.  But,  accord¬ 
ing  to  its  more  probable  issue,  any  passing  favour  she  might 
entertain  for  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  might  require  encour¬ 
agement  rather  than  repression. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


187 


This  seemed  the  more  likely,  as  he  had  that  very  morning, 
since  their  departure  from  the  castle,  received  a  letter,  the 
contents  of  which  he  hastened  to  communicate  to  Ravenswood. 
A  foot-post  had  arrived  with  a  packet  to  the  Lord  Keeper  from 
that  friend  whom  we  have  already  mentioned,  who  was  labour¬ 
ing  hard  underhand  to  consolidate  a  band  of  patriots,  at  the 
head  of  whom  stood  Sir  William’s  greatest  terror,  the  active  and 

ambitious  Marquis  of  A - .  The  success  of  this  convenient 

friend  had  been  such,  that  he  had  obtained  from  Sir  William, 
not  indeed  a  directly  favourable  answer,  but  certainly  a  most 
patient  hearing.  This  he  had  reported  to  his  principal,  who 
had  replied  by  the  ancient  French  adage,  ‘  Chateau  qui  parle , 
et  femme  qui  ecoute ,  Vun  et  l  autre  va  se  rendre .’  A  statesman 
who  hears  you  propose  a  change  of  measures  without  a  reply 
was,  according  to  the  Marquis’s  opinion,  in  the  situation  of  the 
fortress  which  parleys  and  the  lady  who  listens,  and  he  resolved 
to  press  the  siege  of  the  Lord  Keeper. 

The  packet,  therefore,  contained  a  letter  from  his  friend  and 
ally,  and  another  from  himself,  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  frankly 
offering  an  unceremonious  visit.  They  were  crossing  the  coun¬ 
try  to  go  to  the  southward ;  the  roads  were  indifferent ; 
the  accommodation  of  the  inns  as  execrable  as  possible ;  the 
Lord  Keeper  had  been  long  acquainted  intimately  with  one  of 
his  correspondents,  and,  though  more  slightly  known  to  the 
Marquis,  had  yet  enough  of  his  lordship’s  acquaintance  to 
render  the  visit  sufficiently  natural,  and  to  shut  the  mouths 
of  those  who  might  be  disposed  to  impute  it  to  a  political 
intrigue.  He  instantly  accepted  the  offered  visit,  determined, 
however,  that  he  would  not  pledge  himself  an  inch  farther 
for  the  furtherence  of  their  views  than  reason  (by  which  he 
meant  his  own  self-interest)  should  plainly  point  out  to  him 
as  proper. 

Two  circumstances  particularly  delighted  him  —  the  presence 
of  Ravenswood,  and  the  absence  of  his  own  lady.  By  having 
the  former  under  his  own  roof,  he  conceived  he  might  be  able 
to  quash  all  such  hazardous  and  hostile  proceedings  as  he  might 
otherwise  have  been  engaged  in,  under  the  patronage  of  the 
Marquis  ;  and  Lucy,  he  foresaw,  would  make,  for  his  immediate 
purpose  of  delay  and  procrastination,  a  much  better  mistress  of 
his  family  than  her  mother,  who  would,  he  was  sure,  in  some 
shape  or  other,  contrive  to  disconcert  his  political  schemes  by 
her  proud  and  implacable  temper. 

His  anxious  solicitations  that  the  Master  would  stay  to  re” 


188 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


ceive  his  kinsman,  were,  of  course,  readily  complied  with,  since 
the  eclaircissemmt  which  had  taken  place  at  the  Mermaiden’s 
Fountain  had  removed  all  wish  for  sudden  departure.  Lucy 
and  Lockhard  had,  therefore,  orders  to  provide  all  things  neces¬ 
sary  in  their  different  departments,  for  receiving  the  expected 
guests  with  a  pomp  and  display  of  luxury  very  uncommon  in 
Scotland  at  that  remote  period. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


Marall.  Sir,  the  man  of  honour  ’s  come, 

Newly  alighted - 

Overreach.  In  without  reply, 

And  do  as  I  command.  .  .  . 

Is  the  loud  music  I  gave  order  for 
Ready  to  receive  him  ? 

New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts. 

SIR  William  Ashton,  although  a  man  of  sense,  legal  infor¬ 
mation,  and  great  practical  knowledge  of  the  world,  had 
yet  some  points  of  character  which  corresponded  better 
with  the  timidity  of  his  disposition  and  the  supple  arts  by  which 
he  had  risen  in  the  world,  than  to  the  degree  of  eminence  which 
he  had  attained ;  as  they  tended  to  show  an  original  mediocrity 
of  understanding,  however  highly  it  had  been  cultivated,  and  a 
native  meaness  of  disposition,  however  carefully  veiled.  He 
loved  the  ostentatious  display  of  his  wealth,  less  as  a  man  to 
whom  habit  has  made  it  necessary,  than  as  one  to  whom  it  is 
still  delightful  from  its  novelty.  The  most  trivial  details  did 
not  escape  him ;  and  Lucy  soon  learned  to  watch  the  flush  of 
scorn  which  crossed  Ravenswood’s  cheek,  when  he  heard  her 
father  gravely  arguing  with  Lockhard,  nay,  even  with  the  old 
housekeeper,  upon  circumstances  which,  in  families  of  rank,  are 
left  uncared  for,  because  it  is  supposed  impossible  they  can  be 
neglected. 

‘I  could  pardon  Sir  William,’  said  Ravenswood,  one  evening 
after  he  had  left  the  room,  *  some  general  anxiety  upon  this 
occasion,  for  the  Marquis’s  visit  is  an  honour,  and  should  be 
received  as  such ;  but  I  am  worn  out  by  these  miserable  minutiae 
of  the  buttery,  and  the  larder,  and  the  very  hen-coop  —  they 
drive  me  beyond  my  patience ;  I  would  rather  endure  the 
poverty  of  Wolfs  Crag  than  be  pestered  with  the  wealth  of 
Ravenswood  Castle.’ 

‘And  yet,’  said  Lucy,  ‘it  was  by  attention  to  these  minutiae 
that  my  father  acquired  the  property - ’ 


190 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Which  my  ancestors  sold  for  lack  of  it,’  replied  Ravens- 
wood.  ‘  Be  it  so  ;  a  porter  still  bears  but  a  burden,  though  the 
burden  be  of  gold.’ 

Lucy  sighed ;  she  perceived  too  plainly  that  her  lover  held 
in  scorn  the  manners  and  habits  of  a  father  to  whom  she  had 
long  looked  up  as  her  best  and  most  partial  friend,  whose  fond¬ 
ness  had  often  consoled  her  for  her  mother’s  contemptuous 
harshness. 

The  lovers  soon  discovered  that  they  differed  upon  other 
and  no  less  important  topics.  Religion,  the  mother  of  peace, 
was,  in  those  days  of  discord,  so  much  misconstrued  and  mis¬ 
taken,  that  her  rules  and  forms  were  the  subject  of  the  most 
opposite  opinions  and  the  most  hostile  animosities.  The  Lord 
Keeper,  being  a  Whig,  was,  of  course,  a  Presbyterian,  and  had 
found  it  convenient,  at  different  periods,  to  express  greater  zeal 
for  the  kirk  than  perhaps  he  really  felt.  His  family,  equally 
of  course,  were  trained  under  the  same  institution.  Ravens- 
wood,  as  we  know,  was  a  High  Churchman,  or  Episcopalian, 
and  frequently  objected  to  Lucy  the  fanaticism  of  some  of  her 
own  communion,  while  she  intimated,  rather  than  expressed, 
horror  at  the  latitudinarian  principles  which  she  had  been 
taught  to  think  connected  with  the  prelatical  form  of  church 
government. 

Thus,  although  their  mutual  affection  seemed  to  increase 
rather  than  to  be  diminished  as  their  characters  opened  more 
fully  on  each  other,  the  feelings  of  each  were  mingled  with 
some  less  agreeable  ingredients.  Lucy  felt  a  secret  awe,  amid 
all  her  affection  for  Ravenswood.  His  soul  was  of  a  higher, 
prouder  character  than  those  with  whom  she  had  hitherto 
mixed  in  intercourse  ;  his  ideas  wTere  more  fierce  and  free  ;  and 
he  contemned  many  of  the  opinions  which  had  been  inculcated 
upon  her  as  chiefly  demanding  her  veneration.  On  the  other 
hand,  Ravenswood  saw  in  Lucy  a  soft  and  flexible  character, 
which,  in  his  eyes  at  least,  seemed  too  susceptible  of  being 
moulded  to  any  form  by  those  with  whom  she  lived.  He  felt 
that  his  own  temper  required  a  partner  of  a  more  in  dependent 
spirit,  who  could  set  sail  with  him  on  his  course  of  life,  resolved 
as  himself  to  dare  indifferently  the  storm  and  the  favouring 
breeze.  But  Lucy  was  so  beautiful,  so  devoutly  attached  to 
him,  of  a  temper  so  exquisitely  soft  and  kind,  that,  while  he 
could  have  wished  it  were  possible  to  inspire  her  with  a  greater 
degree  of  firmness  and  resolution,  and  while  he  sometimes  be¬ 
came  impatient  of  the  extreme  fear  which  she  expressed  of  their 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


191 


attachment  being  prematurely  discovered,  he  felt  that  the  soft¬ 
ness  of  a  mind,  amounting  almost  to  feebleness,  rendered  her 
even  dearer  to  him,  as  a  being  who  had  voluntarily  clung  to  him 
for  protection,  and  made  him  the  arbiter  of  her  fate  for  weal  or 
woe.  His  feelings  towards  her  at  such  moments  were  those 
which  have  been  since  so  beautifully  expressed  by  our  immortal 
Joanna  Baillie  : 

Thou  sweetest  tiling, 

That  e  ’er  did  fix  its  lightly-fibred  sprays 
To  the  rude  rock,  ah  !  wouldst  thou  cling  to  me  ? 

Rough  and  storm-worn  I  am  ;  yet  love  me  as 
Thou  truly  dost,  I  will  love  thee  again 
With  true  and  honest  heart,  though  all  unmeet 
To  he  the  mate  of  such  sweet  gentleness. 


Thus  the  very  points  in  which  they  differed  seemed,  in 
some  measure,  to  ensure  the  continuance  of  their  mutual  affec¬ 
tion.  If,  indeed,  they  had  so  fully  appreciated  each  other’s 
character  before  the  burst  of  passion  in  which  they  hastily 
pledged  their  faith  to  each  other,  Lucy  might  have  feared 
Ravenswood  too  much  ever  to  have  loved  him,  and  he  might 
have  construed  her  softness  and  docile  temper  as  imbecility, 
rendering  her  unworthy  of  his  regard.  But  they  stood  pledged 
to  each  other ;  and  Lucy  only  feared  that  her  lover’s  pride  might 
one  day  teach  him  to  regret  his  attachment ;  Ravenswood,  that 
a  mind  so  ductile  as  Lucy’s  might,  in  absence  or  difficulties,  be 
induced,  by  the  entreaties  or  influence  of  those  around  her,  to 
renounce  the  engagement  she  had  formed. 

‘  Do  not  fear  it,’  said  Lucy,  when  upon  one  occasion  a  hint  of 
such  suspicion  escaped  her  lover ;  ‘  the  mirrors  which  receive  the 
reflection  of  all  successive  objects  are  framed  of  hard  materials 
like  glass  or  steel ;  the  softer  substances,  when  they  receive  an 
impression,  retain  it  undefaced.’ 

‘This  is  poetry,  Lucy,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘and  in  poetry 
there  is  always  fallacy,  and  sometimes  fiction.’ 

‘Believe  me,  then,  once  more,  in  honest  prose,’  said  Lucy, 
‘  that,  though  I  will  never  wed  man  without  the  consent  of  my 
parents,  yet  neither  force  nor  persuasion  shall  dispose  of  my 
hand  till  you  renounce  the  right  I  have  given  you  to  it.’ 

The  lovers  had  ample  time  for  such  explanations.  Henry 
was  now  more  seldom  their  companion,  being  either  a  most 
unwilling  attendant  upon  the  lessons  of  his  tutor,  or  a  forward 
volunteer  under  the  instructions  of  the  foresters  or  grooms. 
As  for  the  Keeper,  his  mornings  were  spent  in  his  study,  main* 


192 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


taining  correspondences  of  all  kinds,  and  balancing  in  his 
anxious  mind  the  various  intelligence  which  he  collected  from 
every  quarter  concerning  the  expected  change  in  Scottish  politics, 
and  the  probable  strength  of  the  parties  who  were  about  to 
struggle  for  power.  At  other  times  he  busied  himself  about 
arranging,  and  countermanding,  and  then  again  arranging,  the 
preparations  which  he  judged  necessary  for  the  reception  of  the 

Marquis  of  A - ,  whose  arrival  had  been  twice  delayed  by 

some  necessary  cause  of  detention. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  various  avocations,  political  and 
domestic,  he  seemed  not  to  observe  how  much  his  daughter  and 
his  guest  were  thrown  into  each  other’s  society,  and  was  cen¬ 
sured  by  many  of  his  neighbours,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
neighbours  in  all  countries,  for  suffering  such  an  intimate  con¬ 
nexion  to  take  place  betwixt  two  young  persons.  The  only 
natural  explanation  was,  that  he  designed  them  for  each  other ; 
while,  in  truth,  his  only  motive  was  to  temporise  and  procras¬ 
tinate  until  he  should  discover  the  real  extent  of  the  interest 
which  the  Marquis  took  in  Ravenswood’s  affairs,  and  the  power 
which  he  was  likely  to  possess  of  advancing  them.  Until  these 
points  should  be  made  both  clear  and  manifest,  the  Lord  Keeper 
resolved  that  he  would  do  nothing  to  commit  himself,  either  in 
one  shape  or  other ;  and,  like  many  cunning  persons,  he  over¬ 
reached  himself  deplorably. 

Amongst  those  who  had  been  disposed  to  censure,  with  the 
greatest  severity,  the  conduct  of  Sir  William  Ashton,  in  per¬ 
mitting  the  prolonged  residence  of  Ravenswood  under  his  roof, 
and  his  constant  attendance  on  Miss  Ashton,  was  the  new  Laird 
of  Girnington,  and  his  faithful  squire  and  bottle-holder,  person¬ 
ages  formerly  well  known  to  us  by  the  names  of  Hayston  and 
Bucklaw,  and  his  companion  Captain  Craigengelt.  The  former 
had  at  length  succeeded  to  the  extensive  property  of  his  long- 
lived  grand-aunt,  and  to  considerable  wealth  besides,  which  he 
had  employed  in  redeeming  his  paternal  acres  (by  the  title 
appertaining  to  which  he  still  chose  to  be  designated),  not¬ 
withstanding  Captain  Craigengelt  had  proposed  to  him  a  most 
advantageous  mode  of  vesting  the  money  in  Law’s  scheme, 
which  was  just  then  broached,  and  offered  his  services  to  travel 
express  to  Paris  for  the  purpose.  But  Bucklaw  had  so  far 
derived  wisdom  from  adversity,  that  he  would  listen  to  no  pro¬ 
posal  which  Craigengelt  could  invent,  which  had  the  slightest 
tendency  to  risk  his  newly-acquired  independence.  He  that 
once  had  eat  pease-bannocks,  drank  sour  wine,  and  slept  in  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


193 


secret  chamber  at  Wolfs  Crag,  would,  he  said,  prize  good  cheer 
and  a  soft  bed  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  take  special  care  not 
to  need  such  hospitality  again. 

Craigengelt,  therefore,  found  himself  disappointed  in  the 
first  hopes  he  had  entertained  of  making  a  good  hand  of  the 
Laird  of  Bucklaw.  Still,  however,  he  reaped  many  advantages 
from  his  friend’s  good  fortune.  Bucklaw,  who  had  never  been 
at  all  scrupulous  in  choosing  his  companions,  was  accustomed 
to,  and  entertained  by,  a  fellow  whom  he  could  either  laugh 
with  or  laugh  at  as  he  had  a  mind,  who  would  take,  accord¬ 
ing  to  Scottish  phrase,  ‘the  bit  and  the  buffet,’  understood  all 
sports,  whether  within  or  without  doors,  and,  when  the  laird 
had  a  mind  for  a  bottle  of  Avine  (no  infrequent  circumstance), 
was  always  ready  to  save  him  from  the  scandal  of  getting 
drunk  by  himself.  Upon  these  terms,  Craigengelt  was  the  fre¬ 
quent,  almost  the  constant,  inmate  of  the  house  of  Girnington. 

In  no  time,  and  under  no  possibility  of  circumstances,  could 
good  have  been  derived  from  such  an  intimacy,  however  its  bad 
consequences  might  be  qualified  by  the  thorough  knowledge 
which  Bucklaw  possessed  of  his  dependant’s  character,  and  the 
high  contempt  in  which  he  held  it.  But,  as  circumstances 
stood,  this  evil  communication  was  particularly  liable  to  corrupt 
Avhat  good  principles  nature  had  implanted  in  the  patron. 

Craigengelt  had  never  forgiven  the  scorn  Avith  which  Ravens- 
Avood  had  torn  the  mask  of  courage  and  honesty  from  his  coun¬ 
tenance  ;  and  to  exasperate  BucklaAv’s  resentment  against  him 
was  the  safest  mode  of  revenge  that  occurred  to  his  coAArardly, 
yet  cunning  and  malignant,  disposition. 

He  brought  up  on  all  occasions  the  story  of  the  challenge 
which  Ravenswood  had  declined  to  accept,  and  endeavoured, 
by  every  possible  insinuation,  to  make  his  patron  believe  that 
his  honour  was  concerned  in  bringing  that  matter  to  an  issue 
by  a  present  discussion  with  Ravenswood.  But  respecting  this 
subject  Bucklaw  imposed  on  him,  at  length,  a  peremptory  com¬ 
mand  of  silence. 

‘I  think,’  he  said,  ‘the  Master  has  treated  me  unlike  a 
gentleman,  and  I  see  no  right  he  had  to  send  me  back  a  cavalier 
answer  when  I  demanded  the  satisfaction  of  one.  But  he  gave 
me  my  life  once ;  and,  in  looking  the  matter  over  at  present,  I 
put  myself  but  on  equal  terms  Avith  him.  Should  he  cross  me 
again,  I  shall  consider  the  old  accompt  as  balanced,  and  his 
Mastership  will  do  Avell  to  look  to  himself.’ 

‘That  he  should,’  re-echoed  Craigengelt ;  ‘for  when  you  are 

VOL.  Till  — 13 


194 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


in  practice,  Bucklaw,  I  would  bet  a  magnum  you  are  through 
him  before  the  third  pass.’ 

‘  Then  you  know  nothing  of  the  matter,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘  and 
you  never  saw  him  fence.’ 

‘  And  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter  ?  ’  said  the  dependant  — 

‘  a  good  jest,  I  promise  you  !  And  though  I  never  saw  Ravens- 
wood  fence,  have  I  not  been  at  Monsieur  Sagoon’s  school,  who 
was  the  first  maitre  d’armes  at  Paris  ;  and  have  I  not  been  at 
Signor  Poco’s  at  Florence,  and  Meinherr  Durchstossen’s  at 
Vienna,  and  have  I  not  seen  all  their  play  ?  ’ 

‘I  don’t  know  whether  you  have  or  not,’  said  Bucklaw  ;  ‘but 
what  about  it,  though  you  had  %  ’ 

‘  Only  that  I  will  he  d — d  if  ever  I  saw  French,  Italian,  or 
High -Dutchman  ever  make  foot,  hand,  and  eye  keep  time  half 
so  well  as  you,  Bucklaw.’ 

‘  I  believe  you  lie,  Craigie,’  said  Bucklaw ;  ‘  however,  I  can 
hold  my  own,  both  with  single  rapier,  backsword,  sword  and 
dagger,  broadsword,  or  case  of  falchions  —  and  that ’s  as  much 
as  any  gentleman  need  know  of  the  matter.’ 

‘And  the  double  of  what  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  know,’ 
said  Craigengelt ;  ‘  they  learn  to  change  a  few  thrusts  with  the 
small  sword,  and  then,  forsooth,  they  understand  the  noble  art 
of  defence  !  Now,  when  I  was  at  Rouen  in  the  year  1695,  there 
was  a  Chevalier  de  Chapon  and  I  went  to  the  opera,  where  we 
found  three  bits  of  English  birkies - ’ 

‘Is  it  a  long  story  you  are  going  to  tell  V  said  Bucldaw, 
interrupting  him  without  ceremony. 

‘  Just  as  you  like,’  answered  the  parasite,  ‘  for  we  made  short 
work  of  it.  ’ 

‘  Then  I  like  it  short,’  said  Bucklaw.  ‘  Is  it  serious  or  merry  ?  ’ 

‘  Devilish  serious,  I  assure  you,  and  so  they  found  it ;  for  the 
Chevalier  and  I - ’ 

‘  Then  I  don’t  like  it  at  all,’  said  Bucklaw ;  ‘  so  fill  a  brimmer 
of  my  auld  auntie’s  claret,  rest  her  heart !  And,  as  the  Hieland- 
man  says,  £ 'Mock  dock  na  skiaill.  ’ 1 

‘  That  was  what  tough  old  Sir  Evan  Dhu  used  to  say  to  me 
when  I  was  out  with  the  metall’d  lads  in  1689.  “  Craigengelt,” 

he  used  to  say,  “  you  are  as  pretty  a  fellow  as  ever  held  steel 
in  his  grip,  but  you  have  one  fault.”  ’ 

‘  If  he  had  known  you  as  long  as  I  have  done,’  said  Bucldaw, 
‘  he  would  have  found  out  some  twenty  more ;  but  hang  long 
stories,  give  us  your  toast,  man.’ 

1  “  Cut  a  drink  with  a  tale  ;  ”  equivalent  to  tlie  English  adage  of  boon 
companions,  “  Don’t  preach  over  your  liquor.” 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


195 


Craigengelt  rose,  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  door,  peeped  out,  shut 
it  carefully,  came  back  again,  clapped  his  tarnished  gold-laced 
hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  took  his  glass  in  one  hand,  and 
touching  the  hilt  of  his  hanger  with  the  other,  named,  ‘The 
King  over  the  water.’ 

‘I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Captain  Craigengelt,’  said  Bucklaw; 
‘  I  shall  keep  my  mind  to  myself  on  these  subjects,  having  too 
much  respect  for  the  memory  of  my  venerable  Aunt  Girnington 
to  put  her  lands  and  tenements  in  the  way  of  committing 
treason  against  established  authority.  Bring  me  King  James 
to  Edinburgh,  Captain,  with  thirty  thousand  men  at  his  back, 
and  I  ’ll  tell  you  what  I  think  about  his  title ;  but  as  for  run¬ 
ning  my  neck  into  a  noose,  and  my  good  broad  lands  into  the 
statutory  penalties,  “  in  that  case  made  and  provided,”  rely  upon 
it,  you  will  find  me  no  such  fool.  So,  when  you  mean  to  vapour 
with  your  hanger  and  your  dram-cup  in  support  of  treasonable 
toasts,  you  must  find  your  liquor  and  company  elsewhere.’ 

‘Well,  then,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘name  the  toast  yourself,  and 
be  it  what  it  like,  I  ’ll  pledge  you,  were  it  a  mile  to  the  bottom.’ 

‘And  I  ’ll  give  you  a  toast  that  deserves  it,  my  boy,’  said 
Bucklaw ;  ‘  what  say  you  to  Miss  Lucy  Ashton  ?  ’ 

‘  Up  with  it,’  said  the  Captain,  as  he  tossed  off  his  brimmer, 
‘  the  bonniest  lass  in  Lothian  !  What  a  pity  the  old  sneckdraw- 
ing  Whigamore,  her  father,  is  about  to  throw  her  away  upon 
that  rag  of  pride  and  beggary,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood !  ’ 

‘That’s  not  quite  so  clear,’  said  Bucklaw,  in  a  tone  which, 
though  it  seemed  indifferent,  excited  his  companion’s  eager 
curiosity;  and  not  that  only,  but  also  his  hope  of  working 
himself  into  some  sort  of  confidence,  which  might  make  him 
necessary  to  his  patron,  being  by  no  means  satisfied  to  rest  on 
mere  sufferance,  if  he  could  form  by  art  or  industry  a  more 
permanent  title  to  his  favour. 

‘I  thought,’  said  he,  after  a  moment’s  pause,  ‘that  was  a 
settled  matter ;  they  are  continually  together,  and  nothing  else 
is  spoken  of  betwixt  Lammer  Law  and  Traprain.’ 

‘They  may  say  what  they  please,’  replied  his  patron,  ‘but 
I  know  better;  and  I’ll  give  you  Miss  Lucy  Ashton’s  health 
again,  my  hoy.’ 

‘And  I  would  drink  it  on  my  knee,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘if 
I  thought  the  girl  had  the  spirit  to  jilt  that  d — d  son  of  a 
Spaniard.’ 

‘  I  am  to  request  you  will  not  use  the  word  “ jilt  ”  and  Miss 
Ashton’s  name  together,’  said  Bucklaw,  gravely. 


196 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Jilt,  did  I  say?  Discard,  my  lad  of  acres  —  by  Jove,  I 
meant  to  say  discard,  ’  replied  Craigengelt ;  ‘  and  I  hope  she  11 
discard  him  like  a  small  card  at  piquet,  and  take  in  the  king 
of  hearts,  my  boy  !  But  yet - ’ 

‘  But  what  ?  ’  said  his  patron. 

‘  But  yet  I  know  for  certain  they  are  hours  together  alone, 
and  in  the  woods  and  the  fields.’ 

‘That’s  her  foolish  father’s  dotage;  that  will  be  soon  put 
out  of  the  lass’s  head,  if  it  ever  gets  into  it,’  answered  Buck- 
law.  ‘  And  now  fill  your  glass  again,  Captain ;  I  am  going  to 
make  you  happy ;  I  am  going  to  let  you  into  a  secret  —  a  plot 
—  a  noosing  plot  —  only  the  noose  is  but  typical.  ’ 

‘  A  marrying  matter  ?  ’  said  Craigengelt,  and  his  jaw  fell  as 
he  asked  the  question ;  for  he  suspected  that  matrimony  would 
render  his  situation  at  Girnington  much  more  precarious  than 
during  the  jolly  days  of  his  patron’s  bachelorhood. 

‘Ay,  a  marriage,  man,’  said  Bucklaw;  ‘but  wherefore  droops 
thy  mighty  spirit,  and  why  grow  the  rubies  on  thy  cheek  so 
pale  ?  The  board  will  have  a  corner,  and  the  corner  will  have 
a  trencher,  and  the  trencher  will  have  a  glass  beside  it;  and 
the  board-end  shall  be  filled,  and  the  trencher  and  the  glass 
shall  be  replenished  for  thee,  if  all  the  petticoats  in  Lothian 
had  sworn  the  contrary.  What,  man !  I  am  not  the  boy  to 
put  myself  into  leading-strings.’ 

‘So  says  many  an  bonest  fellow,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘and 
some  of  my  special  friends ;  but,  curse  me  if  I  know  the  reason, 
the  women  could  never  bear  me,  and  always  contrived  to  trun¬ 
dle  me  out  of  favour  before  the  honeymoon  was  over.’ 

‘  If  you  could  have  kept  your  ground  till  that  was  over,  you 
might  have  made  a  good  year’s  pension,’  said  Bucklaw. 

‘  But  I  never  could,’  answered  the  dejected  parasite.  ‘  There 
was  my  Lord  Castle-Cuddy  —  we  were  hand  and  glove  :  I  rode 
his  horses,  borrowed  money  both  for  him  and  from  him,  trained 
his  hawks,  and  taught  him  how  to  lay  his  bets ;  and  when  he 
took  a  fancy  of  marrying,  I  married  him  to  Katie  Glegg,  whom 
I  thought  myself  as  sure  of  as  man  could  be  of  woman.  Egad, 
she  had  me  out  of  the  house,  as  if  I  had  run  on  wheels,  within 
the  first  fortnight !  ’ 

‘Well !  ’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘I  think  I  have  nothing  of  Castle- 
Cuddy  about  me,  or  Lucy  of  Katie  Glegg.  But  you  see  the 
thing  will  go  on  whether  you  like  it  or  no ;  the  only  question 
is,  will  you  be  useful  ?  ’ 

‘  U  seful !  ’  exclaimed  the  Captain,  ‘  and  to  thee,  my  lad  of 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


197 


lands,  my  darling  boy,  whom  I  would  tramp  barefooted  through 
the  world  for  !  Name  time,  place,  mode,  and  circumstances, 
and  see  if  I  will  not  be  useful  in  all  uses  that  can  be  devised.’ 

‘  Why,  then,  you  must  ride  two  hundred  miles  for  me,’  said 
the  patron. 

‘A  thousand,  and  call  them  a  flea’s  leap,’  answered  the 
dependant ;  ‘  I  ’ll  cause  saddle  my  horse  directly.’ 

‘  Better  stay  till  you  know  where  you  are  to  go,  and  what 
you  are  to  do,’  quoth  Bucklaw.  ‘  You  know  I  have  a  kins¬ 
woman  in  Northumberland,  Lady  Blenkensop  by  name,  whose 
old  acquaintance  I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  in  the  period  of 
my  poverty,  but  the  light  of  whose  countenance  shone  forth 
upon  me  when  the  sun  of  my  prosperity  began  to  arise.’ 

‘  D — n  all  such  double-faced  jades  !  ’  exclaimed  Craigengelt, 
heroically ;  ‘this  I  will  say  for  John  Craigengelt,  that  he  is  his 
friend’s  friend  through  good  report  and  bad  report,  poverty  and 
ricbes  ;  and  you  know  something  of  that  yourself,  Bucklaw.’ 

‘I  have  not  forgot  your  merits,’  said  his  patron;  ‘I  do 
remember  that,  in  my  extremities,  you  had  a  mind  to  crimp 
me  for  the  service  of  the  French  king,  or  of  the  Pretender ; 
and,  moreover,  that  you  afterwards  lent  me  a  score  of  pieces, 
when,  as  I  firmly  believe,  you  had  heard  the  news  that  old 
Lady  Girnington  had  a  touch  of  the  dead  palsy.  But  don’t  be 
downcast,  John ;  I  believe  after  all,  you  like  me  very  well  in 
your  way,  and  it  is  my  misfortune  to  have  no  better  counsellor 
at  present.  To  return  to  this  Lady  Blenkensop,  you  must 
know,  she  is  a  close  confederate  of  Duchess  Sarah.’ 

‘  What !  of  Sail  Jennings  ?  ’  exclaimed  Craigengelt ;  ‘  then  she 
must  be  a  good  one.’ 

‘  Hold  your  tongue,  and  keep  your  Tory  rants  to  yourself,  if 
it  be  possible,’  said  Bucklaw.  ‘  I  tell  you,  that  through  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough  has  this  Northumbrian  cousin  of  mine 
become  a  crony  of  Lady  Ashton,  the  Keeper’s  wife,  or,  I  may 
say,  the  Lord  Keeper’s  Lady  Keeper,  and  she  has  favoured 
Lady  Blenkensop  with  a  visit  on  her  return  from  London, 
and  is  just  now  at  her  old  mansion-house  on  the  banks  of  the 
Wansbeck.  Now,  sir,  as  it  has  been  the  use  and  wont  of 
these  ladies  to  consider  their  husbands  as  of  no  importance  in 
the  management  of  their  own  families,  it  has  been  their 
present  pleasure,  without  consulting  Sir  William  Ashton,  to 
put  on  the  tapis  a  matrimonial  alliance,  to  be  concluded 
between  Lucy  Ashton  and  my  own  right  honourable  self,  Lady 
Ashton  acting  as  self-constituted  plenipotentiary  on  the  part  of 


198 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


her  daughter  and  husband,  and  Mother  Blenkensop,  equally 
unaccredited,  doing  me  the  honour  to  be  my  representative. 
You  may  suppose  I  was  a  little  astonished  when  I  found  that 
a  treaty,  in  which  I  was  so  considerably  interested,  had  ad¬ 
vanced  a  good  way  before  I  was  even  consulted.’ 

‘  Capot  me  !  if  I  think  that  was  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
game,’  said  his  confidant;  ‘and  pray,  what  answer  did  you 
return  h  ’ 

‘  Why,  my  first  thought  was  to  send  the  treaty  to  the  devil, 
and  the  negotiators  along  with  it,  for  a  couple  of  meddling 
old  women  ;  my  next  was  to  laugh  very  heartily  ;  and  my  third 
and  last  was  a  settled  opinion  that  the  thing  was  reasonable, 
and  would  suit  me  well  enough.’ 

‘  Why,  I  thought  you  had  never  seen  the  wench  but  once,  and 
then  she  had  her  riding-mask  on ;  I  am  sure  you  told  me  so.’ 

‘  Ay,  but  I  liked  her  very  well  then.  And  Ravenswood’s 
dirty  usage  of  me  —  shutting  me  out  of  doors  to  dine  with  the 
lackeys,  because  he  had  the  Lord  Keeper,  forsooth,  and  his 
daughter,  to  be  guests  in  his  beggarly  castle  of  starvation,  — 
d — m  me,  Craigengelt,  if  I  ever  forgive  him  till  I  play  him  as 
good  a  trick !  ’ 

‘No  more  you  should,  if  you  are  a  lad  of  mettle,’  said 
Craigengelt,  the  matter  now  taking  a  turn  in  which  he  could 
sympathise  ;  ‘  and  if  you  carry  this  wench  from  him,  it  will 
break  his  heart.’ 

‘That  it  will  not,’  said  Bucklaw ;  ‘his  heart  is  all  steeled 
over  with  reason  and  philosophy,  things  that  you,  Craigie,  know 
nothing  about  more  than  myself,  God  help  me.  But  it  will 
break  his  pride,  though,  and  that’s  what  I ’m  driving  at.’ 

‘  Distance  me  !  ’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘  but  I  know  the  reason 
now  of  his  unmannerly  behaviour  at  his  old  tumble-down  tower 
yonder.  Ashamed  of  your  company  ?  —  no,  no  !  Gad,  he  was 
afraid  you  would  cut  in  and  carry  off  the  girl.’ 

‘  Eh  !  Craigengelt  1  ’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘  do  you  really  think  so  'l 
but  no,  no  !  he  is  a  devilish  deal  prettier  man  than  I  am.’ 

‘  Who  —  he  1  ’  exclaimed  the  parasite.  ‘  He ’s  as  black  as  the 
crook  ;  and  for  his  size  —  he ’s  a  tall  fellow,  to  be  sure,  but  give 
me  a  light,  stout,  middle-sized - ’ 

‘  Plague  on  thee !  ’  said  Bucklaw,  interrupting  him,  ‘  and  on 
me  for  listening  to  you  !  You  would  say  as  much  if  I  were 
hunch-backed.  But  as  to  Ravenswood  —  he  has  kept  no  terms 
with  me,  I  ’ll  keep  none  with  him ;  if  I  can  win  this  girl  from 
him,  I  will  win  her.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


199 


‘  Win  her !  Wood,  you  shall  win  her,  point,  quint,  and 
quatorze,  my  king  of  trumps ;  you  shall  pique,  repique,  and 
capot  him. ’ 

‘  Prithee,  stop  thy  gambling  cant  for  one  instant,’  said  Buck- 
law.  ‘  Things  have  come  thus  far,  that  I  have  entertained  the 
proposal  of  my  kinswoman,  agreed  to  the  terms  of  jointure, 
amount  of  fortune,  and  so  forth,  and  that  the  affair  is  to  go 
forward  when  Lady  Ashton  comes  down,  for  she  takes  her 
daughter  and  her  son  in  her  own  hand.  Now  they  want  me 
to  send  up  a  confidential  person  with  some  writings.’ 

‘  By  this  good  wine,  I  ’ll  ride  to  the  end  of  the  world  —  the 
very  gates  of  Jericho,  and  the  judgment-seat  of  Prester  John, 
for  thee  !  ’  ejaculated  the  Captain. 

‘  Why,  I  believe  you  would  do  something  for  me,  and 
a  great  deal  for  yourself.  Now,  any  one  could  carry  the 
writings ;  but  you  will  have  a  little  more  to  do.  You  must 
contrive  to  drop  out  before  my  Lady  Ashton,  just  as  if  it  were 
a  matter  of  little  consequence,  the  residence  of  Ravenswood 
at  her  husband’s  house,  and  his  close  intercourse  with  Miss 
Ashton  ;  and  you  may  tell  her  that  all  the  country  talks  of 

a  visit  from  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  as  it  is  supposed,  to  make 

up  the  match  betwixt  Ravenswood  and  her  daughter.  I 
should  like  to  hear  what  she  says  to  all  this  ;  for,  rat  me !  if 
I  have  any  idea  of  starting  for  the  plate  at  all  if  Ravenswood 
is  to  win  the  race,  and  he  has  odds  against  me  already.’ 

‘Never  a  bit;  the  wrench  has  too  much  sense,  and  in  that 
belief  I  drink  her  health  a  third  time  ;  ana,  were  time  and 
place  fitting,  I  would  drink  it  on  bended  knees,  and  he  that 
would  not  pledge  me,  I  would  make  his  guts  garter  his 
stockings.  ’ 

‘  Hark  ye,  Craigengelt ;  as  you  are  going  into  the  society  of 
women  of  rank,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘I’ll  thank  you  to  forget  your 
strange  blackguard  oaths  and  “  damme’s.”  I  ’ll  write  to  them, 
though,  that  you  are  a  blunt,  untaught  fellow.’ 

‘Ay,  ay,’  replied  Craigengelt  — ‘  a  plain,  blunt,  honest,  down¬ 
right  soldier.’ 

‘Not  too  honest,  nor  too  much  of  the  soldier  neither;  but 
such  as  thou  art,  it  is  my  luck  to  need  thee,  for  I  must  have 
spurs  put  to  Lady  Ashton’s  motions.’ 

‘I’ll  dash  them  up  to  the  rowel-heads,’  said  Craigengelt; 
‘  she  shall  come  here  at  the  gallop,  like  a  cow  chased  by  a 
whole  nest  of  hornets,  and  her  tail  twisted  over  her  rump  like 
a  corkscrew,’ 


200 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘And  hear  ye,  Craigie,’  said  Bucklaw;  ‘your  boots  and 
doublet  are  good  enough  to  drink  in,  as  the  man  says  in  the 
play,  but  they  are  somewhat  too  greasy  for  tea-table  service ; 
prithee,  get  thyself  a  little  better  rigged  out,  and  here  is  to 
pay  all  charges.  ’ 

‘Nay,  Bucklaw;  on  my  soul,  man,  you  use  me  ill.  How¬ 
ever,’  added  Craigengelt,  pocketing  the  money,  ‘if  you  will 
have  me  so  far  indebted  to  you,  I  must  be  conforming.’ 

‘Well,  horse  and  away!’  said  the  patron,  ‘so  soon  as  you 
have  got  your  riding  livery  in  trim.  You  may  ride  the  black 
crop-ear;  and,  hark  ye,  I  ’ll  make  you  a  present  of  him  to  boot.’ 

‘I  drink  to  the  good  luck  of  my  mission,’  answered  the 
ambassador,  ‘in  a  half-pint  bumper.’ 

‘  I  thank  ye,  Craigie,  and  pledge  you ;  I  see  nothing  against 
it  but  the  father  or  the  girl  taking  a  tantrum,  and  I  am  told 
the  mother  can  wind  them  both  round  her  little  finger.  Take 
care  not  to  affront  her  with  any  of  your  Jacobite  jargon.’ 

‘  0  ay,  true  —  she  is  a  Whig,  and  a  friend  of  old  Sail  of 
Marlborough ;  thank  my  stars,  I  can  hoist  any  colours  at  a 
pinch  !  I  have  fought  as  hard  under  John  Churchill  as  ever  I 
did  under  Dundee  or  the  Duke  of  Berwick.’ 

‘  I  verily  believe  you,  Craigie,’  said  the  lord  of  the  mansion  ; 
*  but,  Craigie,  do  you,  pray,  step  down  to  the  cellar,  and  fetch 
us  up  a  bottle  of  the  Burgundy,  1678  ;  it  is  in  the  fourth  bin 
from  the  right-hand  turn.  And  I  say,  Craigie,  you  may  fetch 
up  half  a  dozen  whilst  you  are  about  it.  Egad,  we  ’ll  make  a 
night  on ’t !  ’ 


CHAPTER  XXII 


And  soon  they  spied  the  merry-men  green, 

And  eke  the  coach  and  four. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 

CRAIGENGELT  set  forth  on  his  mission  so  soon  as  his 
equipage  was  complete,  prosecuted  his  journey  with  all 
dilligence,  and  accomplished  his  commission  with  all  the 
dexterity  for  which  Bucklaw  had  given  him  credit.  As  he 
arrived  with  credentials  from  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  he  was 
extremely  welcome  to  both  ladies ;  and  those  who  are  prej  udiced 
in  favour  of  a  new  acquaintance  can,  for  a  time  at  least,  dis¬ 
cover  excellences  in  his  very  faults  and  perfections  in  his 
deficiencies.  Although  both  ladies  were  accustomed  to  good 
society,  yet,  being  predetermined  to  find  out  an  agreeable  and 
well-behaved  gentleman  in  Mr.  Hayston’s  friend,  they  succeeded 
wonderfully  in  imposing  on  themselves.  It  is  true  that  Craig- 
engelt  was  now  handsomely  dressed,  and  that  was  a  point  of 
no  small  consequence.  But,  independent  of  outward  show,  his 
blackguard  impudence  of  address  was  construed  into  honourable 
bluntness,  becoming  his  supposed  military  profession ;  his  hec¬ 
toring  passed  for  courage,  and  his  sauciness  for  wit.  Lest,  how¬ 
ever,  any  one  should  think  this  a  violation  of  probability,  we 
must  add,  in  fairness  to  the  two  ladies,  that  their  discernment 
was  greatly  blinded,  and  their  favour  propitated,  by  the  oppor¬ 
tune  arrival  of  Captain  Craigengelt  in  the  moment  when  they 
were  longing  for  a  third  hand  to  make  a  party  at  tredrille,  in 
which,  as  in  all  games,  whether  of  chance  or  skill,  that  worthy 
person  was  a  great  proficient. 

When  he  found  himself  established  in  favour,  his  next 
point  was  how  best  to  use  it  for  the  furtherance  of  his  patron’s 
views.  He  found  Lady  Ashton  prepossessed  strongly  in  favour 
of  the  motion  which  Lady  Blenkensop,  partly  from  regard  to 
her  kinsman,  partly  from  the  spirit  of  match-making,  had  not 


202 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


hesitated  to  propose  to  her ;  so  that  his  task  was  an  easy  one. 
Bucklaw,  reformed  from  his  prodigality,  was  just  the  sort  of 
husband  which  she  desired  to  have  for  her  Shepherdess  of 
Lammermoor  ;  and  while  the  marriage  gave  her  an  easy  for¬ 
tune,  and  a  respectable  country  gentleman  for  her  husband, 
Lady  Ashton  was  of  opinion  that  her  destinies  would  be  fully 
and  most  favourably  accomplished.  It  so  chanced,  also,  that 
Bucklaw,  among  his  new  acquisitions,  had  gained  the  manage¬ 
ment  of  a  little  political  interest  in  a  neighbouring  county, 
where  the  Douglas  family  originally  held  large  possessions.  It 
was  one  of  the  bosom-hopes  of  Lady  Ashton  that  her  eldest  son, 
Sholto,  should  represent  this  county  in  the  British  Parliament, 
and  she  saw  this  alliance  with  Bucklaw  as  a  circumstance  which 
might  be  highly  favourable  to  her  wishes. 

Craigengelt,  who,  in  his  way,  by  no  means  wanted  sagacity, 
no  sooner  discovered  in  what  quarter  the  wind  of  Lady  Ashton’s 
wishes  sate,  than  he  trimmed  his  course  accordingly.  ‘  There 
was  little  to  prevent  Bucklaw  himself  from  sitting  for  the 
county  ;  he  must  carry  the  heat  —  must  walk  the  course.  Two 
cousins-german,  six  more  distant  kinsmen,  his  factor  and  his 
chamberlain,  were  all  hollow  votes ;  and  the  Grirnington  interest 
had  always  carried,  betwixt  love  and  fear,  about  as  many  more. 
But  Bucklaw  cared  no  more  about  riding  the  first  horse,  and 
that  sort  of  thing,  than  he,  Craigengelt,  did  about  a  game  at 
birkie  :  it  was  a  pity  his  interest  was  not  in  good  guidance.’ 

All  this  Lady  Ashton  drank  in  with  willing  and  attentive 
ears,  resolving  internally  to  he  herself  the  person  who  should 
take  the  management  of  the  political  influence  of  her  destined 
son-in-law,  for  the  benefit  of  her  eldest-born,  Sholto,  and  all 
other  parties  concerned. 

When  he  found  her  ladyship  thus  favourably  disposed,  the 
Captain  proceeded,  to  use  his  employer’s  phrase,  to  set  spurs 
to  her  resolution,  by  hinting  at  the  situation  of  matters  at 
Ravenswood  Castle,  the  long  residence  which  the  heir  of  that 
family  had  made  with  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  the  reports  which 
—  though  he  would  be  d — d  ere  he  gave  credit  to  any  of  them  — 
had  been  idly  circulated  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  not  the 
Captain’s  cue  to  appear  himself  to  be  uneasy  on  the  subject  of 
these  rumours ;  but  he  easily  saw  from  Lady  Ashton’s  flushed 
cheek,  hesitating  voice,  and  flashing  eye,  that  she  had  caught 
the  alarm  which  he  intended  to  communicate.  She  had  not 
heard  from  her  husband  so  often  or  so  regularly  as  she  thought 
him  bound  in  duty  to  have  written,  and  of  this  very  interesting 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


203 


intelligence  concerning  his  visit  to  the  Tower  of  Wolfs  Crag, 
and  the  guest  whom,  with  such  cordiality,  he  had  received  at 
Ravenswood  Castle,  he  had  suffered  his  lady  to  remain  altogether 
ignorant,  until  she  now  learned  it  by  the  chance  information  of 
a  stranger.  Such  concealment  approached,  in  her  apprehension, 
to  a  misprision,  at  least,  of  treason,  if  not  to  actual  rebellion 
against  her  matrimonial  authority ;  and  in  her  inward  soul  did 
she  vow  to  take  vengeance  on  the  Lord  Keeper,  as  on  a  subject 
detected  in  meditating  revolt.  Her  indignation  burned  the 
more  fiercely  as  she  found  herself  obliged  to  suppress  it  in 
presence  of  Lady  Blenkensop,  the  kinswoman,  and  of  Craigen- 
gelt,  the  confidential  friend,  of  Bucklaw,  of  whose  alliance  she 
now  became  trebly  desirous,  since  it  occurred  to  her  alarmed 
imagination  that  her  husband  might,  in  his  policy  or  timidity, 
prefer  that  of  Ravenswood. 

The  Captain  was  engineer  enough  to  discover  that  the  train 
was  fired ;  and  therefore  heard,  in  the  course  of  the  same  day, 
without  the  least  surprise,  that  Lady  Ashton  had  resolved  to 
abridge  her  visit  to  Lady  Blenkensop,  and  set  forth  with  the 
peep  of  morning  on  her  return  to  Scotland,  using  all  the  de¬ 
spatch  which  the  state  of  the  roads  and  the  mode  of  travelling 
would  possibly  permit. 

Unhappy  Lord  Keeper  !  little  was  he  aware  what  a  storm  was 
travelling  towards  him  in  all  the  speed  with  which  an  old- 
fashioned  coach  and  six  could  possibly  achieve  its  journey. 
He,  like  Don  Gayferos,  £  forgot  his  lady  fair  and  true/  and  was 

only  anxious  about  the  expected  visit  of  the  Marquis  of  A - . 

Soothfast  tidings  had  assured  him  that  this  nobleman  was  at 
length,  and  without  fail,  to  honour  his  castle  at  one  in  the 
afternoon,  being  a  late  dinner-hour ;  and  much  was  the  bustle 
in  consequence  of  the  annunciation.  The  Lord  Keeper  traversed 
the  chambers,  held  consultation  with  the  butler  in  the  cellars, 
and  even  ventured,  at  the  risk  of  a  demele  with  a  cook  of  a 
spirit  lofty  enough  to  scorn  the  admonitions  of  Lady  Ashton 
herself,  to  peep  into  the  kitchen.  Satisfied,  at  length,  that  every¬ 
thing  was  in  as  active  a  train  of  preparation  as  was  possible, 
he  summoned  Ravenswood  and  his  daughter  to  walk  upon  the 
terrace,  for  the  purpose  of  watching,  from  that  commanding 
position,  the  earliest  symptoms  of  his  lordship’s  approach.  For 
this  purpose,  with  slow  and  idle  step,  he  paraded  the  terrace, 
which,  flanked  with  a  heavy  stone  battlement,  stretched  in  front 
of  the  castle  upon  a  level  with  the  first  story ;  while  visitors 
found  access  to  the  court  by  a  projecting  gateway,  the  bartizan 


2G4 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


or  flat-leaded  roof  of  which  was  accessible  from  the  terrace  by 
an  easy  flight  of  low  and  broad  steps.  The  whole  bore  a  re¬ 
semblance  partly  to  a  castle,  partly  to  a  nobleman’s  seat ;  and 
though  calculated,  in  some  respects,  for  defence,  evinced  that  it 
had  been  constructed  under  a  sense  of  the  power  and  security 
of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Ravens  wood. 

This  pleasant  walk  commanded  a  beautiful  and  extensive 
view.  But  what  was  most  to  our  present  purpose,  there  were 
seen  from  the  terrace  two  roads,  one  leading  from  the  east,  and 
one  from  the  westward,  which,  crossing  a  ridge  opposed  to  the 
eminence  on  which  the  castle  stood,  at  different  angles,  gradu¬ 
ally  approached  each  other,  until  they  joined  not  far  from  the 
gate  of  the  avenue.  It  was  to  the  westward  approach  that  the 
Lord  Keeper,  from  a  sort  of  fidgeting  anxiety,  his  daughter, 
from  complaisance  to  him,  and  Ravenswood,  though  feeling 
some  symptoms  of  internal  impatience,  out  of  complaisance  to 
his  daughter,  directed  their  eyes  to  see  the  precursors  of  the 
Marquis’s  approach. 

These  were  not  long  of  presenting  themselves.  Two  running 
footmen,  dressed  in  white,  with  black  jockey-caps,  and  long 
staffs  in  their  hands,  headed  the  train;  and  such  was  their 
agility,  that  they  found  no  difficulty  in  keeping  tire  necessary 
advance,  which  the  etiquette  of  their  station  required,  before 
the  carriage  and  horsemen.  Onward  they  came  at  a  long 
swinging  trot,  arguing  unwearied  speed  in  their  long-breathed 
calling.  Such  running  footmen  are  often  alluded  to  in  old  plays 
(I  would  particularly  instance  Middleton’s  Mad  World ,  my 
Masters),  and  perhaps  may  be  still  remembered  by  some  old 
persons  in  Scotland,  as  part  of  the  retinue  of  the  ancient  nobil¬ 
ity  when  travelling  in  full  ceremony.1  Behind  these  glancing 
meteors,  who  footed  it  as  if  the  Avenger  of  Blood  had  been 
behind  them,  came  a  cloud  of  dust,  raised  by  riders  who  pre¬ 
ceded,  attended,  or  followed  the  state-carriage  of  the  Marquis. 

The  privilege  of  nobility,  in  those  days,  had  something  in  it 
impressive  on  the  imagination.  The  dresses  and  liveries  and 
number  of  their  attendants,  their  style  of  travelling,  the  im¬ 
posing,  and  almost  warlike,  air  of  the  armed  men  who  sur¬ 
rounded  them,  placed  them  far  above  the  laird,  who  travelled 
with  his  brace  of  footmen ;  and  as  to  rivalry  from  the  mercantile 
part  of  the  community,  these  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
imitating  the  state  equipage  of  the  Sovereign.  At  present  it 
is  different;  and  I  myself,  Peter  Pattieson,  in  a  late  journey  to 


1  See  Note  6. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


205 


Edinburgh,  had  the  honour,  in  the  mail-coach  phrase,  to  ‘  change 
a  leg 5  with  a  peer  of  the  realm.  It  was  not  so  in  the  days  of 
which  I  write;  and  the  Marquis’s  approach,  so  long  expected 
in  vain,  now  took  place  in  the  full  pomp  of  ancient  aristocracy. 
Sir  William  Ashton  was  so  much  interested  in  what  he  beheld, 
and  in  considering  the  ceremonial  of  reception,  in  case  any 
circumstance  had  been  omitted,  that  he  scarce  heard  his  son 
Henry  exclaim,  ‘  There  is  another  coach  and  six  coming  down 
the  east  road,  papa;  can  they  both  belong  to  the  Marquis  of 
A - V 

At  length,  when  the  youngster  had  fairly  compelled  his  atten¬ 
tion  by  pulling  his  sleeve, 

He  turned  his  eyes,  and,  as  he  turn’d,  survey’d 

An  awful  vision. 

Sure  enough,  another  coach  and  six,  with  four  servants  or 
outriders  in  attendance,  was  descending  the  hill  from  the  east¬ 
ward,  at  such  a  pace  as  made  it  doubtful  which  of  the  carriages 
thus  approaching  from  different  quarters  would  first  reach  the 
gate  at  the  extremity  of  the  avenue.  The  one  coach  was  green, 
the  other  blue;  and  not  the  green  and  blue  chariots  in  the 
circus  of  Rome  or  Constantinople  excited  more  turmoil  among 
the  citizens  than  the  double  apparition  occasioned  in  the  mind 
of  the  Lord  Keeper. 

We  all  remember  the  terrible  exclamation  of  the  dying  profli¬ 
gate,  when  a  friend,  to  destroy  what  he  supposed  the  hypochon¬ 
driac  idea  of  a  spectre  appearing  in  a  certain  shape  at  a  given 
hour,  placed  before  him  a  person  dressed  up  in  the  manner 
he  described.  ‘  Mon  Dieu !  ’  said  the  expiring  sinner,  who,  it 
seems,  saw  both  the  real  and  polygraphic  apparition,  ‘  il  y  en  a 
deux  !  ’  The  surprise  of  the  Lord  Keeper  was  scarcely  less  un¬ 
pleasing  at  the  duplication  of  the  expected  arrival ;  his  mind 
misgave  him  strangely.  There  was  no  neighbour  who  would 
have  approached  so  unceremoniously,  at  a  time  when  ceremony 
was  held  in  such  respect.  It  must  be  Lady  Ashton,  said  his 
conscience,  and  followed  up  the  hint  with  an  anxious  anticipa¬ 
tion  of  the  purpose  of  her  sudden  and  unannounced  return.  He 
felt  that  he  was  caught  ‘  in  the  manner.  ’  That  the  company 
in  which  she  had  so  unluckily  surprised  him  was  likely  to 
be  highly  distasteful  to  her,  there  was  no  question ;  and  the 
only  hope  which  remained  for  him  was  her  high  sense  of 
dignified  propriety,  which,  he  trusted,  might  prevent  a  public 
explosion.  But  so  active  were  his  doubts  and  fears  as  altogether 


206  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

to  derange  his  purposed  ceremonial  for  the  reception  of  the 
Marquis. 

These  feelings  of  apprehension  were  not  confined  to  Sir 
William  Ashton.  ‘It  is  my  mother  —  it  is  my  mother  !  ’  said 
Lucy,  turning  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  clasping  her  hands  together 
as  she  looked  at  Ravenswood. 

‘  And  if  it  be  Lady  Ashton,’  said  her  lover  to  her  in  a  low 
tone,  ‘  what  can  be  the  occasion  of  such  alarm  ]  Surely  the 
return  of  a  lady  to  the  family  from  which  she  has  been  so  long 
absent  should  excite  other  sensations  than  those  of  fear  and 
dismay.’ 

‘You  do  not  know  my  mother,’  said  Miss  Ashton,  in  a  tone 
almost  breathless  with  terror ;  ‘  what  will  she  say  when  she 
sees  you  in  this  place  !  ’ 

‘  My  stay  has  been  too  long,’  said  Ravenswood,  somewhat 
haughtily,  ‘  if  her  displeasure  at  my  presence  is  likely  to  be  so 
formidable.  My  dear  Lucy,’  he  resumed,  in  a  tone  of  soothing 
encouragement,  ‘  you  are  too  childishly  afraid  of  Lady  Ashton  ; 
she  is  a  woman  of  family  —  a  lady  of  fashion  —  a  person  who 
must  know  the  world,  and  what  is  due  to  her  husband  and  her 
husband’s  guests.’ 

Lucy  shook  her  head  ;  and,  as  if  her  mother,  still  at  the  dis¬ 
tance  of  half  a  mile,  could  have  seen  and  scrutinised  her  de¬ 
portment,  she  withdrew  herself  from  beside  Ravenswood,  and, 
taking  her  brother  Henry’s  arm,  led  him  to  a  different  part  of  the 
terrace.  The  Keeper  also  shuffled  down  towards  the  portal  of 
the  great  gate,  without  inviting  Ravenswood  to  accompany  him  ; 
and  thus  he  remained  standing  alone  on  the  terrace,  deserted 
and  shunned,  as  it  were,  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  mansion. 

This  suited  not  the  mood  of  one  who  was  proud  in  propor¬ 
tion  to  his  poverty,  and  who  thought  that,  in  sacrificing  his 
deep-rooted  resentments  so  far  as  to  become  Sir  William  Ashton’s 
guest,  he  conferred  a  favour,  and  received  none.  ‘  I  can  forgive 
Lucy,’  he  said  to  himself;  ‘she  is  young,  timid,  and  conscious 
of  an  important  engagement  assumed  without  her  mother’s 
sanction  ;  yet  she  should  remember  with  whom  it  has  been 
assumed,  and  leave  me  no  reason  to  suspect  that  she  is  ashamed 
of  her  choice.  For  the  Keeper,  sense,  spirit,  and  expression 
seem  to  have  left  his  face  and  manner  since  he  had  the  first 
glimpse  of  Lady  Ashton’s  carriage.  I  must  watch  how  this  is 
to  end ;  and,  if  they  give  me  reason  to  think  myself  an  un¬ 
welcome  guest,  my  visit  is  soon  abridged.’ 

With  these  suspicions  floating  on  his  mind,  he  left  the  terrace, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


207 

and,  walking  towards  the  stables  of  the  castle,  gave  directions 
that  his  horse  should  be  kept  in  readiness,  in  case  he  should 
have  occasion  to  ride  abroad. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  drivers  of  the  two  carriages,  the 
approach  of  which  had  occasioned  so  much  dismay  at  the  castle, 
had  become  aware  of  each  other’s  presence,  as  they  approached 
upon  different  lines  to  the  head  of  the  avenue,  as  a  common 
centre.  Lady  Ashton’s  driver  and  postilions  instantly  received 
orders  to  get  foremost,  if  possible,  her  ladyship  being  desirous  of 
despatching  her  first  interview  with  her  husband  before  the 
arrival  of  these  guests,  whoever  they  might  happen  to  be.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  coachman  of  the  Marquis,  conscious  of  his 
own  dignity  and  that  of  his  master,  and  observing  the  rival 
charioteer  was  mending  his  pace,  resolved,  like  a  true  brother 
of  the  whip,  whether  ancient  or  modern,  to  vindicate  his  right 
of  precedence.  So  that,  to  increase  the  confusion  of  the  Lord 
Keeper’s  understanding,  he  saw  the  short  time  which  remained 
for  consideration  abridged  by  the  haste  of  the  contending  coach¬ 
men,  wTho,  fixing  their  eyes  sternly  on  each  other,  and  applying 
the  lash  smartly  to  their  horses,  began  to  thunder  down  the 
descent  with  emulous  rapidity,  while  the  horsemen  who  at¬ 
tended  them  were  forced  to  put  on  to  a  hand-gallop. 

Sir  William’s  only  chance  now  remaining  was  the  possibility 
of  an  overturn,  and  that  his  lady  or  visitor  might  break  their 
necks.  I  am  not  aware  that  he  formed  any  distinct  wish  on 
the  subject,  but  I  have  no  reason  to  think  that  his  grief  in 
either  case  would  have  been  altogether  inconsolable.  This 
chance,  however,  also  disappeared ;  for  Lady  Ashton,  though 
insensible  to  fear,  began  to  see  the  ridicule  of  running  a  race 
with  a  visitor  of  distinction,  the  goal  being  the  portal  of  her 
own  castle,  and  commanded  her  coachman,  as  they  approached 
the  avenue,  to  slacken  his  pace,  and  allow  precedence  to  the 
stranger’s  equipage ;  a  command  which  he  gladly  obeyed,  as 
coming  in  time  to  save  his  honour,  the  horses  of  the  Marquis’s 
carriage  being  better,  or,  at  least,  fresher  than  his  own.  He 
restrained  his  pace,  therefore,  and  suffered  the  green  coach  to 
enter  the  avenue,  with  all  its  retinue,  which  pass  it  occupied 
with  the  speed  of  a  whirlwind.  The  Marquis’s  laced  charioteer 
no  sooner  found  the  pas  d'avance  was  granted  to  him  than  he 
resumed  a  more  deliberate  pace,  at  which  he  advanced  under 
the  embowering  shade  of  the  lofty  elms,  surrounded  by  all  the 
attendants  ;  while  the  carriage  of  Lady  Ashton  followed,  still 
more  slowly,  at  some  distance. 


208 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


In  the  front  of  the  castle,  and  beneath  the  portal  which  ad¬ 
mitted  guests  into  the  inner  court,  stood  Sir  William  Ashton, 
much  perplexed  in  mind,  his  younger  son  and  daughter  beside 
him,  and  in  their  rear  a  train  of  attendants  of  various  ranks,  in 
and  out  of  livery.  The  nobility  and  gentry  of  Scotland,  at  this 
period,  were  remarkable  even  to  extravagance  for  the  number 
of  their  servants,  whose  services  were  easily  purchased  in  a 
country  where  men  were  numerous  beyond  proportion  to  the 
means  of  employing  them. 

The  manners  of  a  man  trained  like  Sir  William  Ashton  are 
too  much  at  his  command  to  remain  long  disconcerted  with  the 
most  adverse  concurrence  of  circumstances.  He  received  the 
Marquis,  as  he  alighted  from  his  equipage,  with  the  usual 
compliments  of  welcome;  and,  as  he  ushered  him  into  the 
great  hall,  expressed  his  hope  that  his  journey  had  been 
pleasant.  The  Marquis  was  a  tall,  well-made  man,  with  a 
thoughtful  and  intelligent  countenance,  and  an  eye  in  which 
the  fire  of  ambition  had  for  some  years  replaced  the  vivacity  of 
youth ;  a  bold,  proud  expression  of  countenance,  yet  chastened 
by  habitual  caution,  and  the  desire  which,  as  the  head  of  a 
party,  he  necessarily  entertained  of  acquiring  popularity.  He 
answered  with  courtesy  the  courteous  inquiries  of  the  Lord 
Keeper,  and  was  formally  presented  to  Miss  Ashton,  in  the 
course  of  which  ceremony  the  Lord  Keeper  gave  the  first  symp¬ 
tom  of  what  was  chiefly  occupying  his  mind,  by  introducing  his 
daughter  as  ‘  his  wife,  Lady  Ashton.’ 

Lucy  blushed ;  the  Marquis  looked  surprised  at  the  extremely 
juvenile  appearance  of  his  hostess,  and  the  Lord  Keeper  with 
difficulty  rallied  himself  so  far  as  to  explain.  ‘  I  should  have 
said  my  daughter,  my  lord ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  I  saw  Lady 
Ashton’s  carriage  enter  the  avenue  shortly  after  your  lordship’s, 
and - ’ 

‘Make  no  apology,  my  lord,’  replied  his  noble  guest;  ‘let 
me  entreat  you  will  wait  on  your  lady,  and  leave  me  to  cultivate 
Miss  Ashton’s  acquaintance.  I  am  shocked  my  people  should 
have  taken  precedence  of  our  hostess  at  her  own  gate ;  but 
your  lordship  is  aware  that  I  supposed  Lady  Ashton  was  still 
in  the  south.  Permit  me  to  beseech  you  will  waive  ceremony, 
and  hasten  to  welcome  her.’ 

This  was  precisely  what  the  Lord  Keeper  longed  to  do ;  and 
he  instantly  profited  by  his  lordship’s  obliging  permission.  To 
see  Lady  Ashton,  and  encounter  the  first  burst  of  her  displeasure 
in  private,  might  prepare  her,  in  some  degree,  to  receive  her 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


209 


unwelcome  guests  with  due  decorum.  As  her  carriage,  there¬ 
fore,  stopped,  the  arm  of  the  attentive  husband  was  ready  to 
assist  Lady  Ashton  in  dismounting.  Looking  as  if  she  saw 
him  not,  she  put  his  arm  aside,  and  requested  that  of  Captain 
Craigengelt,  who  stood  by  the  coach  with  his  laced  hat  under 
his  arm,  having  acted  as  cavalier e  servente ,  or  squire  in  attend¬ 
ance,  during  the  journey.  Taking  hold  of  this  respectable  per¬ 
son’s  arm  as  if  to  support  her,  Lady  Ashton  traversed  the 
court,  uttering  a  word  or  two  by  way  of  direction  to  the  ser¬ 
vants,  but  not  one  to  Sir  William,  who  in  vain  endeavoured  to 
attract  her  attention,  as  he  rather  followed  than  accompanied 
her  into  the  hall,  in  which  they  found  the  Marquis  in  close 
conversation  with  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  Lucy  had  taken 
the  first  opportunity  of  escaping.  There  was  embarrassment 

on  every  countenance  except  that  of  the  Marquis  of  A - ; 

for  even  Craigengelt’ s  impudence  was  hardly  able  to  veil  his 
fear  of  Ravenswood,  and  the  rest  felt  the  awkwardness  of  the 
position  in  which  they  were  thus  unexpectedly  placed. 

After  waiting  a  moment  to  be  presented  by  Sir  William 
Ashton,  the  Marquis  resolved  to  introduce  himself.  ‘  The  Lord 
Keeper,’  he  said,  bowing  to  Lady  Ashton,  ‘has  just  introduced 
to  me  his  daughter  as  his  wife ;  he  might  very  easily  present 
Lady  Ashton  as  his  daughter,  so  little  does  she  differ  from  what 
I  remember  her  some  years  since.  Will  she  permit  an  old 
acquaintance  the  privilege  of  a  guest  ?  ’ 

He  saluted  the  lady  with  too  good  a  grace  to  apprehend  a 
repulse,  and  then  proceeded  —  ‘  This,  Lady  Ashton,  is  a  peace¬ 
making  visit,  and  therefore  I  presume  to  introduce  my  cousin, 
the  young  Master  of  Ravenswood,  to  your  favourable  notice.’ 

Lady  Ashton  could  not  choose  but  courtesy ;  but  there  was 
in  her  obeisance  an  air  of  haughtiness  approaching  to  contemp¬ 
tuous  repulse.  Ravenswood  could  not  choose  but  bow ;  but  his 
manner  returned  the  scorn  with  which  he  had  been  greeted. 

‘Allow  me,’ she  said,  ‘to  present  to  your  lordship  my  friend.’ 
Craigengelt,  with  the  forward  impudence  which  men  of  his  cast 
mistake  for  ease,  made  a  sliding  bow  to  the  Marquis,  which  he 
graced  by  a  flourish  of  his  gold-laced  hat.  The  lady  turned  to 
her  husband.  ‘You  and  I,  Sir  William,’  she  said,  and  these 
were  the  first  words  she  had  addressed  to  him,  ‘  have  acquired 
new  acquaintances  since  we  parted  ;  let  me  introduce  the  acqui¬ 
sition  I  have  made  to  mine  —  Captain  Craigengelt.  ’ 

Another  bow,  and  another  flourish  of  the  gold-laced  hat, 
which  was  returned  by  the  Lord  Keeper  without  intimation  of 

VOL.  VIII  — 14 


210 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


former  recognition,  and  with  that  sort  of  anxious  readiness 
which  intimated  his  wish  that  peace  and  amnesty  should  take 
place  betwixt  the  contending  parties,  including  the  auxiliaries 
on  both  sides.  ‘  Let  me  introduce  you  to  the  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood,’  said  he  to  Captain  Craigengelt,  following  up  the  same 
amicable  system. 

But  the  Master  drew  up  his  tall  form  to  the  full  extent  of  his 
height,  and  without  so  much  as  looking  towards  the  person  thus 
introduced  to  him,  he  said,  in  a  marked  tone,  ‘  Captain  Craigen¬ 
gelt  and  I  are  already  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  each  other.’ 

‘Perfectly  —  perfectly,’  replied  the  Captain,  in  a  mumbling 
tone,  like  that  of  a  double  echo,  and  with  a  flourish  of  his  hat, 
the  circumference  of  which  was  greatly  abridged,  compared  with 
those  which  had  so  cordially  graced  his  introduction  to  the 
Marquis  and  the  Lord  Keeper. 

Lockhard,  followed  by  three  menials,  now  entered  with  wine 
and  refreshments,  which  it  was  the  fashion  to  offer  as  a  whet 
before  dinner;  and  when  they  were  placed  before  the  guests, 
Lady  Ashton  made  an  apology  for  withdrawing  her  husband 
from  them  for  some  minutes  upon  business  of  special  import. 
The  Marquis,  of  course,  requested  her  ladyship  would  lay  her¬ 
self  under  no  restraint;  and  Craigengelt,  bolting  with  speed  a 
second  glass  of  racy  canary,  hastened  to  leave  the  room,  feeling 
no  great  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  being  left  alone  with  the 
Marquis  of  A - and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood ;  the  pres¬ 

ence  of  the  former  holding  him  in  awe,  and  that  of  the  latter 
in  bodily  terror. 

Some  arrangements  about  his  horse  and  baggage  formed  the 
pretext  for  his  sudden  retreat,  in  which  he  persevered,  although 
Lady  Ashton  gave  Lockhard  orders  to  be  careful  most  particu¬ 
larly  to  accommodate  Captain  Craigengelt  with  all  the  attend¬ 
ance  which  he  could  possibly  require.  The  Marquis  and  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  were  thus  left  to  communicate  to  each 
other  their  remarks  upon  the  reception  which  they  had  met  with, 
while  Lady  Ashton  led  the  way,  and  her  lord  followed  somewhat 
like  a  condemned  criminal,  to  her  ladyship’s  dressing-room. 

So  soon  as  the  spouses  had  both  entered,  her  ladyship  gave 
way  to  that  fierce  audacity  of  temper  which  she  had  with  diffi¬ 
culty  suppressed,  out  of  respect  to  appearances.  She  shut  the 
door  behind  the  alarmed  Lord  Keeper,  took  the  key  out  of  the 
spring-lock,  and  with  a  countenance  which  years  had  not  be¬ 
reft  of  its  haughty  charms,  and  eyes  which  spoke  at  once  reso¬ 
lution  and  resentment,  she  addressed  her  astounded  husband 


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The  Marquis  introduces  his  cousin  to  Lady  Ashton 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


211 


in  these  words  :  ‘  My  lord,  I  am  not  greatly  surprised  at  the 

connexions  you  have  been  pleased  to  form  during  my  absence, 
they  are  entirely  in  conformity  with  your  birth  and  breeding ; 
and  if  I  did  expect  anything  else,  I  heartily  own  my  error,  and 
that  I  merit,  by  having  done  so,  the  disappointment  you  had 
prepared  for  me.’ 

‘My  dear  Lady  Ashton  —  my  dear  Eleanor,’  said  the  Lord 
Keeper,  ‘listen  to  reason  for  a  moment,  and  I  will  convince 
you  I  have  acted  with  all  the  regard  due  to  the  dignity, 
as  well  as  the  interest,  of  my  family.’ 

‘To  the  interest  of  your  family  I  conceive  you  perfectly 
capable  of  attending,’  returned  the  indignant  lady,  ‘and  even 
to  the  dignity  of  your  own  family  also,  as  far  as  it  requires  any 
looking  after.  But  as  mine  happens  to  be  inextricably  involved 
with  it,  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  choose  to  give  my  own  attention 
so  far  as  that  is  concerned.’ 

‘  What  would  you  have,  Lady  Ashton  ?  ’  said  the  husband. 
‘  What  is  it  that  displeases  you  1  Why  is  it  that,  on  your 
return  after  so  long  an  absence,  I  am  arraigned  in  this  manner  'l  ’ 

‘Ask  your  own  conscience,  Sir  William,  what  has  prompted 
you  to  become  a  renegade  to  your  political  party  and  opinions, 
and  led  you,  for  what  I  know,  to  be  on  the  point  of  marrying 
your  only  daughter  to  a  beggarly  Jacobite  bankrupt,  the  in¬ 
veterate  enemy  of  your  family  to  the  boot.’ 

‘Why,  what,  in  the  name  of  common  sense  and  civility, 
would  you  have  me  do,  madam  ?  ’  answered  her  husband.  ‘  Is  it 
possible  for  me,  with  ordinary  decency,  to  turn  a  young  gentle¬ 
man  out  of  my  house,  who  saved  my  daughter’s  life  and  my  own, 
but  the  other  morning,  as  it  were  1  ’ 

‘  Saved  your  life  !  I  have  heard  of  that  story,’  said  the  lady. 
‘  The  Lord  Keeper  was  scared  by  a  dun  cow,  and  he  takes  the 
young  fellow  who  killed  her  for  Guy  of  Warwick  :  any  butcher 
from  Haddington  may  soon  have  an  equal  claim  on  your 
hospitality.  ’ 

‘Lady  Ashton,’  stammered  the  Keeper,  ‘this  is  intolerable; 
and  when  I  am  desirous,  too,  to  make  you  easy  by  any  sacri¬ 
fice,  if  you  would  but  tell  me  what  you  would  be  at.’ 

‘Go  down  to  your  guests,’  said  the  imperious  dame,  ‘and 
make  your  apology  to  Ravenswood,  that  the  arrival  of  Captain 
Craigengelt  and  some  other  friends  renders  it  impossible  for 
you  to  offer  him  lodgings  at  the  castle.  I  expect  young  Mr. 
Hayston  of  Bucklaw.’ 

‘  Good  heavens,  madam  !  ’  ejaculated  her  husband.  ‘  Ravens- 


212  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

wood  to  give  place  to  Craigengelt,  a  common  gambler  and  an 
informer !  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  forbear  desiring  the  fellow 
to  get  out  of  my  house,  and  I  was  much  surprised  to  see  him 
in  your  ladyship’s  train.’ 

‘Since  you  saw  him  there,  you  might  be  well  assured,’ 
answered  this  meek  helpmate,  ‘  that  he  was  proper  society.  As 
to  this  Ravenswood,  he  only  meets  with  the  treatment  which, 
to  my  certain  knowledge,  he  gave  to  a  much -valued  friend  of 
mine,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  his  guest  some  time  since. 
But  take  your  resolution ;  for,  if  Ravenswood  does  not  quit  the 
house,  I  will.’ 

Sir  William  Ashton  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment  in 
the  most  distressing  agitation ;  fear,  and  shame,  and  anger 
contending  against  the  habitual  deference  he  was  in  the  use  of 
rendering  to  his  lady.  At  length  it  ended,  as  is  usual  with 
timid  minds  placed  in  such  circumstances,  in  his  adopting  a 
mezzo  termine  —  a  middle  measure. 

‘  I  tell  you  frankly,  madam,  I  neither  can  nor  will  be  guilty 
of  the  incivility  you  propose  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood ;  he 
has  not  deserved  it  at  my  hand.  If  you  will  be  so  unreasonable 
as  to  insult  a  man  of  quality  under  your  own  roof,  I  cannot 
prevent  you ;  but  I  will  not  at  least  be  the  agent  in  such  a 
preposterous  proceeding.’ 

‘  You  will  not  1  ’  asked  the  lady. 

‘No,  by  heavens,  madam!’  her  husband  replied;  ‘ask  me 
anything  congruent  with  common  decency,  as  to  drop  his 
acquaintance  by  degrees,  or  the  like ;  but  to  bid  him  leave  my 
house  is  what  I  will  not  and  cannot  consent  to.’ 

‘  Then  the  task  of  supporting  the  honour  of  the  family  will 
fall  on  me,  as  it  has  often  done  before,’  said  the  lady. 

She  sat  down,  and  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines.  The  Lord 
Keeper  made  another  effort  to  prevent  her  taking  a  step  so 
decisive,  just  as  she  opened  the  door  to  call  her  female  attendant 
from  the  ante-room.  ‘  Think  what  you  are  doing,  Lady  Ashton  : 
you  are  making  a  mortal  enemy  of  a  young  man  who  is  like 
to  have  the  means  of  harming  us - ’ 

‘  Did  you  ever  know  a  Douglas  who  feared  an  enemy  1  ’ 
answered  the  lady,  contemptuously. 

‘Ay,  but  he  is  as  proud  and  vindictive  as  a  hundred 
Douglasses,  and  a  hundred  devils  to  boot.  Think  of  it  for  a 
night  only.’ 

‘  Not  for  another  moment,’  answered  the  lady.  ‘  Here,  Mrs. 
Patullo,  give  this  billet  to  young  Ravenswood.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


213 


‘  To  the  Master,  madam  1  ’  said  Mrs.  Patullo. 

£  Ay,  to  the  Master,  if  you  call  him  so.’ 

‘  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  entirely,’  said  the  Keeper ;  ‘  and  I 
shall  go  down  into  the  garden  and  see  that  Jardine  gathers  the 
winter  fruit  for  the  desert.’ 

‘  Do  so,’  said  the  lady,  looking  after  him  with  glances  of 
infinite  contempt ;  ‘and  thank  God  that  you  leave  one  behind 
you  as  fit  to  protect  the  honour  of  the  family  as  you  are  to 
look  after  pippins  and  pears.’ 

The  Lord  Keeper  remained  long  enough  in  the  garden  to 
give  her  ladyship’s  mind  time  to  explode,  and  to  let,  as  he 
thought,  at  least  the  first  violence  of  Ravens  wood’s  displeasure 
blow  over.  When  he  entered  the  hall,  he  found  the  Marquis 

of  A - giving  orders  to  some  of  his  attendants.  He  seemed 

in  high  displeasure,  and  interrupted  an  apology  which  Sir 
William  had  commenced  for  having  left  his  lordship  alone. 

‘I  presume,  Sir  William,  you  are  no  stranger  to  this  singular 
billet  with  which  my  kinsman  of  Ravens  wood  (an  emphasis  on 
the  word  ‘  my  ’)  has  been  favoured  by  your  lady  ;  and,  of  course, 
that  you  are  prepared  to  receive  my  adieus.  My  kinsman  is 
already  gone,  having  thought  it  unnecessary  to  offer  any  on 
his  part,  since  all  former  civilities  had  been  cancelled  by  this 
singular  insult.’ 

‘I  protest,  my  lord,’  said  Sir  William,  holding  the  billet  in 
his  hand,  ‘  I  am  not  privy  to  the  contents  of  this  letter.  I 
know  Lady  Ashton  is  a  warm-tempered  and  prejudiced  woman, 
and  I  am  sincerely  sorry  for  any  offence  that  has  been  given  or 
taken ;  but  I  hope  your  lordship  will  consider  that  a  lady - ’ 

‘  Should  bear  herself  towards  persons  of  a  certain  rank  with 
the  breeding  of  one,’  said  the  Marquis,  completing  the  half- 
uttered  sentence. 

‘True,  my  lord,’  said  the  unfortunate  Keeper;  ‘but  Lady 
Ashton  is  still  a  woman - ’ 

‘And  as  such,  methinks,’  said  the  Marquis,  again  interrupt¬ 
ing  him,  ‘  should  be  taught  the  duties  which  correspond  to  her 
station.  But  here  she  comes,  and  I  will  learn  from  her  own 
mouth  the  reason  of  this  extraordinary  and  unexpected  affront 
offered  to  my  near  relation,  while  both  he  and  I  were  her  lady¬ 
ship’s  guests.’ 

Lady  Ashton  accordingly  entered  the  apartment  at  this 
moment.  Her  dispute  with  Sir  William,  and  a  subsequent 
interview  with  her  daughter,  had  not  prevented  her  from 
attending  to  the  duties  of  her  toilette.  She  appeared  in  full 


214 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


dress  ;  and,  from  the  character  of  her  countenance  and  manner, 
well  became  the  splendour  with  which  ladies  of  quality  then 
appeared  on  such  occasions. 

The  Marquis  of  A - bowed  haughtily,  and  she  returned 

the  salute  with  equal  pride  and  distance  of  demeanour.  He 
then  took  from  the  passive  hand  of  Sir  William  Ashton  the 
billet  he  had  given  him  the  moment  before  he  approached  the 
lady,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  she  interrupted  him.  ‘  I 
perceive,  my  lord,  you  are  about  to  enter  upon  an  unpleasant 
subject.  I  am  sorry  any  such  should  have  occurred  at  this 
time,  to  interrupt  in  the  slightest  degree  the  respectful  recep¬ 
tion  due  to  your  lordship  ;  but  so  it  is.  Mr.  Edgar  Ravens- 
Avood,  for  whom  I  have  addressed  the  billet  in  your  lordship’s 
hand,  has  abused  the  hospitality  of  this  family,  and  Sir  William 
Ashton’s  softness  of  temper,  in  order  to  seduce  a  young  person 
into  engagements  without  her  parents’  consent,  and  of  which 
they  never  can  approve.’ 

Both  gentlemen  answered  at  once.  ‘  My  kinsman  is  inca¬ 
pable  - ’  said  the  Lord  Marquis. 

‘I  am  confident  that  my  daughter  Lucy  is  still  more  in¬ 
capable  - ’  said  the  Lord  Keeper. 

Lady  Ashton  at  once  interrupted  and  replied  to  them  both. 
— ‘  My  Lord  Marquis,  your  kinsman,  if  Mr.  Ravenswood  has  the 
honour  to  be  so,  has  made  the  attempt  privately  to  secure  the 
affections  of  this  young  and  inexperienced  girl.  Sir  William 
Ashton,  your  daughter  has  been  simple  enough  to  give  more 
encouragement  than  she  ought  to  have  done  to  so  very  im¬ 
proper  a  suitor.’ 

‘And  I  think,  madam,’  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  losing  his 
accustomed  temper  and  patience,  ‘that  if  you  had  nothing 
better  to  tell  us,  you  had  better  have  kept  this  family  secret 
to  yourself  also.’ 

‘You  will  pardon  me,  Sir  William,’ said  the  lady,  calmly; 
‘  the  noble  Marquis  has  a  right  to  know  the  cause  of  the  treat¬ 
ment  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  use  to  a  gentleman  whom 
he  calls  his  blood-relation.’ 

‘It  is  a  cause,’  muttered  the  Lord  Keeper,  ‘ Avhich  has 
emerged  since  the  effect  has  taken  place  ;  for,  if  it  exists  at  all, 
I  am  sure  she  knew  nothing  ot  it  when  her  letter  to  Ravens- 
wood  was  written.’ 

‘It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  heard  of  this,’  said  the 
Marquis;  ‘but,  since  your  ladyship  has  tabled  a  subject  so 
delicate,  permit  me  to  say,  that  my  kinsman’s  birth  and  con- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


215 


nexions  entitled  him  to  a  patient  hearing,  and  at  least  a  civil 
refusal,  even  in  case  of  his  being  so  ambitious  as  to  raise  his 
eyes  to  the  daughter  of  Sir  William  Ashton.’ 

‘You  will  recollect,  my  lord,  of  what  blood  Miss  Lucy 
Ashton  is  come  by  the  mother’s  side,’  said  the  lady. 

‘  I  do  remember  your  descent  —  from  a  younger  branch  of 
the  house  of  Angus,’  said  the  Marquis;  ‘and  your  ladyship  — 
forgive  me,  lady  —  ought  not  to  forget  that  the  Ravens  woods 
have  thrice  intermarried  with  the  main  stem.  Come,  madam, 
I  know  how  matters  stand  —  old  and  long-fostered  prejudices 
are  difficult  to  get  over,  I  make  every  allowance  for  them  ;  I 
ought  not,  and  I  would  not,  otherwise  have  suffered  my  kins¬ 
man  to  depart  alone,  expelled,  in  a  manner,  from  this  house, 
but  I  had  hopes  of  being  a  mediator.  I  am  still  unwilling  to 
leave  you  in  anger,  and  shall  not  set  forward  till  after  noon, 
as  I  rejoin  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood  upon  the  road  a  few 
miles  from  hence.  Let  us  talk  over  this  matter  more  coolly.’ 

‘It  is  what  I  anxiously  desire,  my  lord,’  said  Sir  William 
Ashton,  eagerly.  ‘Lady  Ashton,  we  will  not  permit  my  Lord 

of  A - to  leave  us  in  displeasure.  We  must  compel  him  to 

tarry  dinner  at  the  castle.’ 

‘The  castle,’  said  the  lady,  ‘and  all  that  it  contains,  are  at 
the  command  of  the  Marquis,  so  long  as  he  chooses  to '  honour 
it  with  his  residence;  but  touching  the  farther  discussion  of 
this  disagreeable  topic - ’ 

‘Pardon  me,  good  madam,’  said  the  Marquis;  ‘but  I  cannot 
allow  you  to  express  any  hasty  resolution  on  a  subject  so  im¬ 
portant.  I  see  that  more  company  is  arriving ;  and,  since  I 
have  the  good  fortune  to  renew  my  former  acquaintance  with 
Lady  Ashton,  I  hope  she  will  give  me  leave  to  avoid  perilling 
what  I  prize  so  highly  upon  any  disagreeable  subject  of  dis¬ 
cussion  —  at  least  till  we  have  talked  over  more  pleasant  topics.’ 

The  lady  smiled,  courtesied,  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  Mar¬ 
quis,  by  whom,  with  all  the  formal  gallantry  of  the  time,  which 
did  not  permit  the  guest  to  tuck  the  lady  of  the  house  under 
the  arm,  as  a  rustic  does  his  sweetheart  at  a  wake,  she  was 
ushered  to  the  eating-room. 

Here  they  were  joined  by  Bucklaw,  Craigengelt,  and  other 
neighbours,  whom  the  Lord  Keeper  had  previously  invited  to 
meet  the  Marquis  of  A — — .  An  apology,  founded  upon  a  slight 
indisposition,  was  alleged  as  an  excuse  for  the  absence  of  Miss 
Ashton,  whose  seat  appeared  unoccupied.  The  entertainment 
was  splendid  to  profusion,  and  was  protracted  till  a  late  hour. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


Such  was  our  fallen  father’s  fate, 

Yet  better  than  mine  own  ; 

He  shared  his  exile  with  his  mate, 

I ’m  banish’d  forth  alone. 

Walller. 

I  WILL  not  attempt  to  describe  the  mixture  of  indignation 
and  regret  with  which  Ravenswood  left  the  seat  which  had 
belonged  to  his  ancestors.  The  terms  in  which  Lady  Ash¬ 
ton’s  billet  was  couched  rendered  it  impossible  for  him,  without 
being  deficient  in  that  spirit  of  which  he  perhaps  had  too  much, 
to  remain  an  instant  longer  within  its  walls.  The  Marquis,  who 
had  his  share  in  the  affront,  was,  nevertheless,  still  willing  to 
make  some  efforts  at  conciliation.  He  therefore  suffered  his 
kinsman  to  depart  alone,  making  him  promise,  however,  that 
he  would  wait  for  him  at  the  small  inn  called  the  Tod’s  Hole, 
situated,  as  our  readers  may  be  pleased  to  recollect,  half-way 
betwixt  Ravenswood  Castle  and  Wolfs  Crag,  and  about  five 
Scottish  miles  distant  from  each.  Here  the  Marquis  proposed 
to  join  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  either  that  night  or  the 
next  morning.  His  own  feelings  would  have  induced  him  to 
have  left  the  castle  directly,  but  he  was  loth  to  forfeit,  with¬ 
out  at  least  one  effort,  the  advantages  which  he  had  proposed 
from  his  visit  to  the  Lord  Keeper  ;  and  the  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood  was,  even  in  the  very  heat  of  his  resentment,  unwilling 
to  foreclose  any  chance  of  reconciliation  which  might  arise  out 
of  the  partiality  which  Sir  William  Ashton  had  shown  towards 
him,  as  well  as  the  intercessory  arguments  of  his  noble  kinsman. 
He  himself  departed  without  a  moment’s  delay,  farther  than  was 
necessary  to  make  this  arrangement. 

At  first  he  spurred  his  horse  at  a  quick  pace  through  an 
avenue  of  the  park,  as  if,  by  rapidity  of  motion,  he  could 
stupify  the  confusion  of  feelings  with  which  he  was  assailed. 
But  as  the  road  grew  wilder  and  more  sequestered,  and  when 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


217 


the  trees  had  hidden  the  turrets  of  the  castle,  he  gradually 
slackened  his  pace,  as  if  to  indulge  the  painful  reflections  which 
he  had  in  vain  endeavoured  to  repress.  The  path  in  which  he 
found  himself  led  him  to  the  Mermaiden’s  Fountain,  and  to  the 
cottage  of  Alice;  and  the  fatal  influence  which  superstitious 
belief  attached  to  the  former  spot,  as  well  as  the  admonitions 
which  had  been  in  vain  offered  to  him  by  the  inhabitant  of 
the  latter,  forced  themselves  upon  his  memory.  ‘Old  saws 
speak  truth/  he  said  to  himself,  ‘and  the  Mermaiden’s  Well 
has  indeed  witnessed  the  last  act  of  rashness  of  the  heir  of 
Ravenswood.  Alice  spoke  well,’  he  continued,  ‘and  I  am  in 
the  situation  which  she  foretold ;  or  rather,  I  am  more  deeply 
dishonoured  —  not  the  dependant  and  ally  of  the  destroyer  of 
my  father’s  house,  as  the  old  sibyl  presaged,  but  the  degraded 
wretch  who  has  aspired  to  hold  that  subordinate  character, 
and  has  been  rejected  with  disdain.’ 

We  are  bound  to  tell  the  tale  as  we  have  received  it;  and, 
considering  the  distance  of  the  time,  and  propensity  of  those 
through  whose  mouths  it  has  passed  to  the  marvellous,  this 
could  not  be  called  a  Scottish  story  unless  it  manifested  a 
tinge  of  Scottish  superstition.  As  Ravenswood  approached  the 
solitary  fountain,  he  is  said  to  have  met  with  the  following 
singular  adventure  :  —  His  horse,  which  was  moving  slowly 
forward,  suddenly  interrupted  its  steady  and  composed  pace, 
snorted,  reared,  and,  though  urged  by  the  spur,  refused  to 
proceed,  as  if  some  object  of  terror  had  suddenly  presented 
itself.  On  looking  to  the  fountain,  Ravenswood  discerned  a  fe¬ 
male  figure,  dressed  in  a  white,  or  rather  greyish,  mantle,  placed 
on  the  very  spot  on  which  Lucy  Ashton  had  reclined  while 
listening  to  the  fatal  tale  of  love.  His  immediate  impression 
was  that  she  had  conjectured  by  which  path  he  would  traverse 
the  park  on  his  departure,  and  placed  herself  at  this  well-known 
and  sequestered  place  of  rendezvous,  to  indulge  her  own  sorrow 
and  his  in  a  parting  interview.  In  this  belief  he  jumped  from 
his  horse,  and,  making  its  bridle  fast  to  a  tree,  walked  hastily 
towards  the  fountain,  pronouncing  eagerly,  yet  under  his  breath, 
the  words,  ‘  Miss  Ashton  !  —  Lucy  !  ’ 

The  figure  turned  as  he  addressed  it,  and  discovered  to  his 
wondering  eyes  the  features,  not  of  Lucy  Ashton,  but  of  old 
blind  Alice.  The  singularity  of  her  dress,  which  rather  re¬ 
sembled  a  shroud  than  the  garment  of  a  living  woman;  the 
appearance  of  her  person,  larger,  as  it  struck  him,  than  it 
usually  seemed  to  be;  above  all,  the  strange  circumstance 


218 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


of  a  blind,  infirm,  and  decrepit  person  being  found  alone  and 
at  a  distance  from  her  habitation  (considerable,  if  her  infirm¬ 
ities  be  taken  into  account),  combined  to  impress  him  with 
a  feeling  of  wonder  approaching  to  fear.  As  he  approached, 
she  arose  slowly  from  her  seat,  held  her  shrivelled  hand  up  as 
if  to  prevent  his  coming  more  near,  and  her  withered  lips 
moved  fast,  although  no  sound  issued  from  them.  Ravenswood 
stopped;  and  as,  after  a  moment’s  pause,  he  again  advanced 
towards  her,  Alice,  or  her  apparition,  moved  or  glided  back¬ 
wards  towards  the  thicket,  still  keeping  her  face  turned  towards 
him.  The  trees  soon  hid  the  form  from  his  sight ;  and,  yield¬ 
ing  to  the  strong  and  terrific  impression  that  the  being  which 
he  had  seen  was  not  of  this  world,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
remained  rooted  to  the  ground  whereon  he  had  stood  when 
he  caught  his  last  view  of  her.  At  length,  summoning  up 
his  courage,  he  advanced  to  the  spot  on  which  the  figure  had 
seemed  to  be  seated ;  but  neither  wTas  there  pressure  of  the 
grass  nor  any  other  circumstance  to  induce  him  to  believe  that 
what  he  had  seen  was  real  and  substantial. 

Full  of  those  strange  thoughts  and  confused  apprehensions 
which  awake  in  the  bosom  of  one  who  conceives  he  has  wit¬ 
nessed  some  preternatural  appearance,  the  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood  walked  back  towards  his  horse,  frequently,  however, 
looking  behind  him,  not  without'  apprehension,  as  if  expecting 
that  the  vision  would  reappear.  But  the  apparition,  whether 
it  was  real  or  whether  it  was  the  creation  of  a  heated  and 
agitated  imagination,  returned  not  again ;  and  he  found  his 
horse  sweating  and  terrified,  as  if  experiencing  that  agony  of 
fear  with  which  the  presence  of  a  supernatural  being  is  sup¬ 
posed  to  agitate  the  brute  creation.  The  Master  mounted,  and 
rode  slowly  forward,  soothing  his  steed  from  time  to  time, 
while  the  animal  seemed  internally  to  shrink  and  shudder,  as 
if  expecting  some  new  object  of  fear  at  the  opening  of  every 
glade.  The  rider,  after  a  moment’s  consideration,  resolved  to 
investigate  the  matter  farther.  ‘  Can  my  eyes  have  deceived 
me,’  he  said,  ‘and  deceived  me  for  such  a  space  of  time?  Or 
are  this  woman’s  infirmities  but  feigned,  in  order  to  excite 
compassion  ?  And  even  then,  her  motion  resembled  not  that 
of  a  living  and  existing  person.  Must  I  adopt  the  popular 
creed,  and  think  that  the  unhappy  being  has  formed  a  league 
with  the  powers  of  darkness  ?  I  am  determined  to  be  resolved ; 
I  will  not  brook  imposition  even  from  my  own  eyes.’ 

In  this  uncertainty  he  rode  up  to  the  little  wicket  of  Alice’s 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


219 


garden.  Her  seat  beneath  the  birch-tree  was  vacant,  though 
the  day  was  pleasant  and  the  sun  was  high.  He  approached 
the  hut,  and  heard  from  within  the  sobs  and  wailing  of  a 
female.  No  answer  was  returned  when  he  knocked,  so  that, 
after  a  moment’s  pause,  he  lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  It 
was  indeed  a  house  of  solitude  and  sorrow.  Stretched  upon 
her  miserable  pallet  lay  the  corpse  of  the  last  retainer  of 
the  house  of  Ravenswood  who  still  abode  on  their  paternal 
domains !  Life  had  but  shortly  departed ;  and  the  little  girl 
by  whom  she  had  been  attended  in  her  last  moments  was 
wringing  her  hands  and  sobbing,  betwixt  childish  fear  and 
sorrow,  over  the  body  of  her  mistress. 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  some  difficulty  to  compose 
the  terrors  of  the  poor  child,  whom  his  unexpected  appearance 
had  at  first  rather  appalled  than  comforted ;  and  when  he 
succeeded,  the  first  expression  which  the  girl  used  intimated 
that  ‘he  had  come  too  late.’  Upon  inquiring  the  meaning  of 
this  expression,  he  learned  that  the  deceased,  upon  the  first 
attack  of  the  mortal  agony,  had  sent  a  peasant  to  the  castle  to 
beseech  an  interview  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  and  had 
expressed  the  utmost  impatience  for  his  return.  But  the 
messengers  of  the  poor  are  tardy  and  negligent  :  the  fellow 
had  not  reached  the  castle,  as  was  afterwards  learned,  until 
Ravenswood  had  left  it,  and  had  then  found  too  much  amuse¬ 
ment  among  the  retinue  of  the  strangers  to  return  in  any 
haste  to  the  cottage  of  Alice.  Meantime  her  anxiety  of  mind 
seemed  to  increase  with  the  agony  of  her  body;  and,  to  use 
the  phrase  of  Babie,  her  only  attendant,  ‘  she  prayed  powerfully 
that  she  might  see  her  master’s  son  once  more,  and  renew 
her  warning.’  She  died  just  as  the  clock  in  the  distant  vil¬ 
lage  tolled  one ;  and  Ravenswood  remembered,  with  internal 
shudderings,  that  he  had  heard  the  chime  sound  through  the 
wood  just  before  he  had  seen  what  he  was  now  much  disposed 
to  consider  as  the  spectre  of  the  deceased. 

It  was  necessary,  as  well  from  his  respect  to  the  departed 
as  in  common  humanity  to  her  terrified  attendant,  that  he 
should  take  some  measures  to  relieve  the  girl  from  her  dis¬ 
tressing  situation.  The  deceased,  he  understood,  had  expressed 
a  desire  to  be  buried  in  a  solitary  churchyard,  near  the  little 
inn  of  the  Tod’s  Hole,  called  the  Hermitage,  or  more  commonly 
Armitage,  in  which  lay  interred  some  of  the  Ravenswood  family, 
and  many  of  their  followers.  Ravenswood  conceived  it  his  duty 
to  gratify  this  predilection,  so  commonly  found  to  exist  among 


220  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

the  Scottish  peasantry,  and  despatched  Babie  to  the  neighbouring 
village  to  procure  the  assistance  of  some  females,  assuring  her 
that,  in  the  meanwhile,  he  would  himself  remain  with  the  dead 
body,  which,  as  in  Thessaly  of  old,  it  is  accounted  highly  unfit 
to  leave  without  a  watch. 

Thus,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  little  more, 
he  found  himself  sitting  a  solitary  guard  over  the  inanimate 
corpse  of  her  whose  dismissed  spirit,  unless  his  eyes  had 
strangely  deceived  him,  had  so  recently  manifested  itself 
before  him.  Notwithstanding  his  natural  courage,  the  Master 
was  considerably  affected  by  a  concurrence  of  circumstances  so 
extraordinary.  ‘She  died  expressing  her  eager  desire  to  see 
me.  Can  it  be,  then,’  was  his  natural  course  of  reflection  — 
‘  can  strong  and  earnest  wishes,  formed  during  the  last  agony 
of  nature,  survive  its  catastrophe,  surmount  the  awful  bounds 
of  the  spiritual  world,  and  place  before  us  its  inhabitants  in 
the  hues  and  colouring  of  life  ?  And  why  was  that  manifested 
to  the  eye  which  could  not  unfold  its  tale  to  the  ear  ?  and 
wherefore  should  a  breach  be  made  in  the  laws  of  nature,  yet 
its  purpose  remain  unknown  ?  Vain  questions,  which  only 
death,  when  it  shall  make  me  like  the  pale  and  withered  form 
before  me,  can  ever  resolve/ 

He  laid  a  cloth,  as  he  spoke,  over  the  lifeless  face,  upon 
whose  features  he  felt  unwilling  any  longer  to  dwell.  He  then 
took  his  place  in  an  old  carved  oaken  chair,  ornamented  with 
his  own  armorial  bearings,  which  Alice  had  contrived  to  appro¬ 
priate  to  her  own  use  in  the  pillage  which  took  place  among 
creditors,  officers,  domestics,  and  messengers  of  the  law  when 
his  father  left  Jtavenswood  Castle  for  the  last  time.  Thus 
seated,  he  banished,  as  much  as  he  could,  the  superstitious 
feelings  which  the  late  incident  naturally  inspired.  His  own 
were  sad  enough,  without  the  exaggeration  of  supernatural 
terror,  since  he  found  himself  transferred  from  the  situation 
of  a  successful  lover  of  Lucy  Ashton,  and  an  honoured  and 
respected  friend  of  her  father,  into  the  melancholy  and  solitary 
guardian  of  the  abandoned  and  forsaken  corpse  of  a  common 
pauper. 

He  was  relieved,  however,  from  his  sad  office  sooner  than 
he  could  reasonably  have  expected,  considering  the  distance 
betwixt  the  hut  of  the  deceased  and  the  village,  and  the  age 
and  infirmities  of  three  old  women  who  came  from  thence,  in 
military  phrase,  to  relieve  guard  upon  the  body  of  the  defunct. 
On  any  other  occasion  the  speed  of  these  reverend  sibyls  would 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


221 


have  been  much  more  moderate,  for  the  first  was  eighty  years 
of  age  and  upwards,  the  second  was  paralytic,  and  the  third 
lame  of  a  leg  from  some  accident.  But  the  burial  duties 
rendered  to  the  deceased  are,  to  the  Scottish  peasant  of  either 
sex,  a  labour  of  love.  I  know  not  whether  it  is  from  the 
temper  of  the  people,  grave  and  enthusiastic  as  it  certainly  is, 
or  from  the  recollection  of  the  ancient  Catholic  opinions,  when 
the  funeral  rites  were  always  considered  as  a  period  of  festival 
to  the  living;  but  feasting,  good  cheer,  and  even  inebriety, 
were,  and  are,  the  frequent  accompaniments  of  a  Scottish 
old-fashioned  burial.  What  the  funeral  feast,  or  ‘dirgie,’  as 
it  is  called,  was  to  the  men,  the  gloomy  preparations  of  the 
dead  body  for  the  coffin  were  to  the  women.  To  straight 
the  contorted  limbs  upon  a  board  used  for  that  melancholy 
purpose,  to  array  the  corpse  in  clean  linen,  and  over  that  in 
its  woollen  shroud,  were  operations  committed  always  to  the 
old  matrons  of  the  village,  and  in  which  they  found  a  singular 
and  gloomy  delight. 

The  old  women  paid  the  Master  their  salutations  with 
a  ghastly  smile,  which  reminded  him  of  the  meeting  betwixt 
Macbeth  and  the  witches  on  the  blasted  heath  of  Forres.  He 
gave  them  some  money,  and  recommended  to  them  the  charge 
of  the  dead  body  of  their  contemporary,  an  office  which  they 
willingly  undertook ;  intimating  to  him  at  the  same  time  that 
he  must  leave  the  hut,  in  order  that  they  might  begin  their 
mournful  duties.  Ravenswood  readily  agreed  to  depart,  only 
tarrying  to  recommend  to  them  due  attention  to  the  body, 
and  to  receive  information  where  he  was  to  find  the  sexton, 
or  beadle,  who  had  in  charge  the  deserted  churchyard  of  the 
Armitage,  in  order  to  prepare  matters  for  the  reception  of  Old 
Alice  in  the  place  of  repose  which  she  had  selected  for  herself. 

‘  Ye  11  no  be  pinched  to  find  out  Johnie  Mortsheugh,’  said 
the  elder  sibyl,  and  still  her  withered  cheek  bore  a  grisly  smile ; 
‘he  dwells  near  the  Tod’s  Hole,  a  house  of  entertainment 
where  there  has  been  mony  a  blithe  birling,  for  death  and 
drink- draining  are  near  neighbours  to  ane  anither.’ 

‘Ay!  and  that’s  e’en  true,  cummer,’  said  the  lame  hag, 
propping  herself  with  a  crutch  which  supported  the  shortness 
of  her  left  leg,  ‘  for  I  mind  when  the  father  of  this  Master  of 
Ravenswood  that  is  now  standing  before  us  sticked  young 
Blackhall  with  his  whinger,  for  a  wrang  word  said  ower  their 
wine,  or  brandy,  or  what  not :  he  gaed  in  as  light  as  a  lark, 
and  he  came  out  wi’  his  feet  foremost.  I  was  at  the  winding  of 


222  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

the  corpse ;  and  when  the  hluid  was  washed  off,  he  was  a 
honny  bouk  of  man’s  body.’ 

It  may  easily  be  believed  that  this  ill-timed  anecdote 
hastened  the  Master’s  purpose  of  quitting  a  company  so  evil- 
omened  and  so  odious.  Yet,  while  walking  to  the  tree  to 
which  his  horse  was  tied,  and  busying  himself  with  adjusting 
the  girths  of  the  saddle,  he  could  not  avoid  hearing,  through 
the  hedge  of  the  little  garden,  a  conversation  respecting  him¬ 
self,  betwixt  the  lame  woman  and  the  octogenarian  sibyl.  The 
pair  had  hobbled  into  the  garden  to  gather  rosemary,  southern¬ 
wood,  rue,  and  other  plants  proper  to  be  strewed  upon  the 
body,  and  burned  by  way  of  fumigation  in  the  chimney  of 
the  cottage.  The  paralytic  wretch,  almost  exhausted  by  the 
journey,  was  left  guard  upon  the  corpse,  lest  witches  or  fiends 
might  play  their  sport  with  it. 

The  following  low,  croaking  dialogue  was  necessarily  over¬ 
heard  by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  :  — 

‘That’s  a  fresh  and  full-grown  hemlock,  Annie  Winnie; 
mony  a  cummer  lang  syne  wad  hae  sought  nae  better  horse  to 
flee  over  hill  and  how,  through  mist  and  moonlight,  and  light 
down  in  the  King  of  France’s  cellar.’ 

‘  Ay,  cummer  !  but  the  very  deil  has  turned  as  hard-hearted 
now  as  the  Lord  Keeper  and  the  grit  folk,  that  hae  breasts 
like  viiinstane.  They  prick  us  and  they  pine  us,  and  they  pit 
us  on  the  pinnywinkles  for  witches ;  and,  if  I  say  my  prayers 
backwards  ten  times  ower,  Satan  will  never  gie  me  amends  o’ 
them.’ 

‘  Did  ye  ever  see  the  foul  thief  ?  ’  asked  her  neighbour. 

‘Na!’  replied  the  other  spokeswoman;  ‘but  I  trow  I  hae 
dreamed  of  him  mony  a  time,  and  I  think  the  day  w  ill  come 
they  will  burn  me  for ’t.  But  ne’er  mind,  cummer !  we  hae 
this  dollar  of  the  Master’s,  and  we  ’ll  send  doun  for  bread  and 
for  yill,  tobacco,  and  a  drap  brandy  to  burn,  and  a  wee  pickle 
saft  sugar ;  and  be  there  deil,  or  nae  deil,  lass,  we  ’ll  hae  a 
merry  night  o’t.’ 

Here  her  leathern  chops  uttered  a  sort  of  cackling,  ghastly 
laugh,  resembling,  to  a  certain  degree,  the  cry  of  the  screech- 
owl. 

‘He’s  a  frank  man,  and  a  free-handed  man,  the  Master,’ 
said  Annie  Winnie,  ‘and  a  comely  personage  —  broad  in  the 
shouthers,  and  narrow  around  the  lungies.  He  wad  mak  a  bonny 
corpse ;  I  wad  like  to  hae  the  streiking  and  winding  o’  him.’ 

‘It  is  written  on  his  brow,  Annie  Winnie,’  returned  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


223 


octogenarian,  her  companion,  ‘  that  hand  of  woman,  or  of  man 
either,  will  never  straught  him  :  dead-deal  will  never  be  laid 
on  his  back,  make  you  your  market  of  that,  for  I  hae  it  frae 
a  sure  hand.’ 

‘  Will  it  be  his  lot  to  die  on  the  battle-ground  then,  Ailsie 
Gourlay  ?  Will  he  die  by  the  sword  or  the  ball,  as  his  for¬ 
bears  hae  dune  before  him,  mony  ane  o’  them  ?  ’ 

‘  Ask  nae  mair  questions  about  it  —  he  11  no  be  graced  sae 
far,’  replied  the  sage. 

‘  I  ken  ye  qre  wiser  than  ither  folk,  Ailsie  Gourlay.  But 
wha  tell’d  ye  this  ?  ’ 

‘Fashna  your  thumb  about  that,  Annie  Winnie,’  answered 
the  sibyl,  ‘  1  hae  it  frae  a  hand  sure  eneugh.’ 

‘But  ye  said  ye  never  saw  the  foul  thief,’  reiterated  her 
inquisitive  companion. 

‘I  hae  it  frae  as  sure  a  hand,’  said  Ailsie,  ‘and  frae  them 
that  spaed  his  fortune  before  the  sark  gaed  ower  his  head.’ 

‘Hark!  I  hear  his  horse’s  feet  riding  aft,’  said  the  other; 
‘they  dinna  sound  as  if  good  luck  was  wi’  them.’ 

‘Mak  haste,  sirs,’  cried  the  paralytic  hag  from  the  cottage, 
‘  and  let  us  do  what  is  needfu’,  and  say  what  is  fitting ;  for,  if 
the  dead  corpse  binna  straughted,  it  will  girn  and  thraw,  and 
that  will  fear  the  best  o’  us.’ 

Ravenswood  was  now  out  of  hearing.  He  despised  most  of 
the  ordinary  prejudices  about  witchcraft,  omens,  and  vaticina¬ 
tion,  to  which  his  age  and  country  still  gave  such  implicit  credit 
that  to  express  a  doubt  of  them  was  accounted  a  crime  equal 
to  the  unbelief  of  Jews  or  Saracens ;  he  knew  also  that  the  pre¬ 
vailing  belief  concerning  witches,  operating  upon  the  hypochon¬ 
driac  habits  of  those  whom  age,  infirmity,  and  poverty  rendered 
liable  to  suspicion,  and  enforced  by  the  fear  of  death  and  the 
pangs  of  the  most  cruel  tortures,  often  extorted  those  confessions 
which  encumber  and  disgrace  the  criminal  records  of  Scotland 
during  the  17th  century.  But  the  vision  of  that  morning, 
whether  real  or  imaginary,  had  impressed  his  mind  with  a 
superstitious  feeling  which  he  in  vain  endeavoured  to  shake  off. 
The  nature  of  the  business  which  awaited  him  at  the  little  inn, 
called  Tod’s  Hole,  where  he  soon  after  arrived,  was  not  of  a  kind 
to  restore  his  spirits. 

It  was  necessary  he  should  see  Mortsheugh,  the  sexton  of 
the  old  burial-ground  at  Armitage,  to  arrange  matters  for  the 
funeral  of  Alice ;  and,  as  the  man  dwelt  near  the  place  of  her 
late  residence,  the  Master,  after  a  slight  refreshment,  walked 


224 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


towards  the  place  where  the  body  of  Alice  was  to  he  deposited. 
It  was  situated  in  the  nook  formed  by  the  eddying  sweep  of  a 
stream,  which  issued  from  the  adjoining  hills.  A  rude  cavern 
in  an  adjacent  rock,  which,  in  the  interior,  was  cut  into  the 
shape  of  a  cross,  formed  the  hermitage,  where  some  Saxon 
saint  had  in  ancient  times  done  penance,  and  given  name  to 
the  place.  The  rich  Abbey  of  Coldinghame  had,  in  latter  days, 
established  a  chapel  in  the  neighbourhood,  of  which  no  vestige 
was  now  visible,  though  the  churchyard  which  surrounded  it 
was  still,  as  upon  the  present  occasion,  used  for  the  interment 
of  particular  persons.  One  or  two  shattered  yew-trees  still 
grew  within  the  precincts  of  that  which  had  once  been  holy 
ground.  Warriors  and  barons  had  been  buried  there  of  old, 
but  their  names  were  forgotten,  and  their  monuments  de¬ 
molished.  The  only  sepulchral  memorials  which  remained  were 
the  upright  headstones  which  mark  the  graves  of  persons  of 
inferior  rank.  The  abode  of  the  sexton  was  a  solitary  cottage 
adjacent  to  the  ruined  wall  of  the  cemetery,  but  so  low  that, 
with  its  thatch,  which  nearly  reached  the  ground,  covered  with 
a  thick  crop  of  grass,  fog,  and  house-leaks,  it  resembled  an  over¬ 
grown  grave.  On  inquiry,  however,  Ravenswood  found  that 
the  man  of  the  last  mattock  was  absent  at  a  bridal,  being  fiddler 
as  well  as  grave-digger  to  the  vicinity.  He  therefore  retired  to 
the  little  inn,  leaving  a  message  that  early  next  morning  he 
would  again  call  for  the  person  whose  double  occupation  con¬ 
nected  him  at  once  with  the  house  of  mourning  and  the  house 
of  feasting. 

An  outrider  of  the  Marquis  arrived  at  Tod’s  Hole  shortly 
after,  with  a  message,  intimating  that  his  master  would  join 
Ravenswood  at  that  place  on  the  following  morning ;  and  the 
Master,  who  would  otherwise  have  proceeded  to  his  old  retreat 
at  Wolfs  Crag,  remained  there  accordingly  to  give  meeting  to 
his  noble  kinsman. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


Hamlet. 

Horatio. 
Hamlet . 


Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business  ?  he  sings  at  grave- 
making. 

Custom  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of  easiness. 

’Tis  e’en  so:  the  hand  of  little  employment  hath  the  daintier 
sense. 

Hamlet,  Act  V.  Scene  1. 


THE  sleep  of  Ravenswood  was  broken  by  ghastly  and 
agitating  visions,  and  bis  waking  intervals  disturbed 
by  melancholy  reflections  on  the  past  and  painful  antici¬ 
pations  of  the  future.  He  was  perhaps  the  only  traveller  who 
ever  slept  in  that  miserable  kennel  without  complaining  of  his 
lodgings,  or  feeling  inconvenience  from  their  deficiencies.  It  is 
when  £  the  mind  is  free  the  body  ’s  delicate.'  Morning,  however, 
found  the  Master  an  early  riser,  in  hopes  that  the  fresh  air  of 
the  dawn  might  afford  the  refreshment  which  night  had  refused 
him.  He  took  his  way  toward  the  solitary  burial-ground,  which 
lay  about  half  a  mile  from  the  inn. 

The  thin  blue  smoke,  which  already  began  to  curl  upward, 
and  to  distinguish  the  cottage  of  the  living  from  the  habitation 
of  the  dead,  apprised  him  that  its  inmate  had  returned  and 
was  stirring.  Accordingly,  on  entering  the  little  churchyard, 
he  saw  the  old  man  labouring  in  a  half-made  grave.  ‘  My 
destiny,’  thought  Ravenswood,  ‘  seems  to  lead  me  to  scenes  of 
fate  and  of  death ;  but  these  are  childish  thoughts,  and  they 
shall  not  master  me.  I  will  not  again  suffer  my  imagination 
to  beguile  my  senses.’  The  old  man  rested  on  his  spade  as  the 
Master  approached  him,  as  if  to  receive  his  commands  ;  and  as 
he  did  not  immediately  speak,  the  sexton  opened  the  discourse 
in  his  own  way. 

‘  Ye  will  be  a  wedding  customer,  sir,  I’se  warrant  1  ’ 

*  What  makes  you  think  so,  friend  ?  ’  replied  the  Master. 

‘I  live  by  twa  trades,  sir,’  replied  the  blithe  old  man  — 
‘  fiddle,  sir,  and  spade ;  filling  the  world,  and  emptying  of  it ; 

YOL.  VIII. - 15 


226 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


and  I  suld  ken  baith  cast  of  customers  by  head-mark  in  thirty 
years’  practice.’ 

‘  You  are  mistaken,  however,  this  morning,’  replied  Ravens- 
wood. 

‘  Am  I  ?  ’  said  the  old  man,  looking  keenly  at  him,  ‘  troth 
and  it  may  be;  since,  for  as  brent  as  your  brow  is,  there  is 
something  sitting  upon  it  this  day  that  is  as  near  akin  to  death 
as  to  wedlock.  Weel —  weel ;  the  pick  and  shovel  are  as  ready 
to  your  order  as  bow  and  fiddle.’ 

‘I  wish  you,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘to  look  after  the  decent 
interment  of  an  old  woman,  Alice  Gray,  who  lived  at  the  Craig- 
foot  in  Ravenswood  Park.’ 

‘  Alice  Gray  !  —  blind  Alice  !  ’  said  the  sexton  ;  ‘  and  is  she 
gane  at  last  ?  that ’s  another  jow  of  the  bell  to  bid  me  be  ready. 
I  mind  when  Habbie  Gray  brought  her  down  to  this  land ;  a 
likely  lass  she  was  then,  and  looked  ower  her  southland  nose 
at  us  a’.  I  trow  her  pride  got  a  downcome.  And  is  she  e’en 
gane  ?  ’ 

‘  She  died  yesterday,’  said  Ravenswood ;  ‘  and  desired  to  be 
buried  here  beside  her  husband ;  you  know  where  he  lies,  no 
doubt  ? ’ 

‘  Ken  where  he  lies  !  ’  answered  the  sexton,  with  national 
indirection  of  response.  ‘  1  ken  whar  a’body  lies,  that  lies  here. 
But  ye  were  speaking  o’  her  grave  ?  Lord  help  us,  it ’s  no  an 
ordinar  grave  that  will  haud  her  in,  if  a’s  true  that  folk  said  of 
Alice  in  her  auld  days  ;  and  if  I  gae  to  six  feet  deep  —  and  a 
warlock’s  grave  shouldna  be  an  inch  mair  ebb,  or  her  ain  witch 
cummers  would  soon  whirl  her  out  of  her  shroud  for  a’  their 
auld  acquaintance  —  and  be ’t  six  feet,  or  be  t  three,  wha ’s  to 
pay  the  making  o’t,  I  pray  ye  ?  ’ 

‘  I  will  pay  that,  my  friend,  and  all  reasonable  charges.’ 

‘  Reasonable  charges  !  ’  said  the  sexton ;  ‘  ou,  there ’s  grund- 
mail  —  and  bell-siller,  though  the  bell ’s  broken,  nae  doubt 
—  and  the  kist  —  and  my  day’s  wark  —  and  my  bit  fee  — 
and  some  brandy  and  yill  to  the  dirgie ;  I  am  no  thinking 
that  you  can  inter  her,  to  ca’  decently,  under  saxteen  pund 
Scots.’ 

‘There  is  the  money,  my  friend,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘and 
something  over.  Be  sure  you  know  the  grave.’ 

‘  Ye’ll  be  ane  o’  her  English  relations,  I’se  warrant,’  said  the 
hoary  man  of  skulls  ;  ‘  I  hae  heard  she  married  far  below  her 
station.  It  was  very  right  to  let  her  bite  on  the  bridle  when 
she  was  living,  and  it ’s  very  right  to  gie  her  a  decent  burial 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


227 


now  she ’s  dead,  for  that ’s  a  matter  o’  credit  to  yoursell  rather 
than  to  her.  Folk  may  let  their  kindred  shift  for  themsells 
when  they  are  alive,  and  can  bear  the  burden  of  their  ain 
misdoings ;  but  it ’s  an  unnatural  thing  to  let  them  be  buried 
like  dogs,  when  a’  the  discredit  gangs  to  the  kindred.  What 
kens  the  dead  corpse  about  it  ?  ’ 

‘  You  would  not  have  people  neglect  their  relations  on  a  bridal 
occasion  neither  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood,  who  was  amused  with  the 
professional  limitation  of  the  grave-digger’s  philanthropy. 

The  old  man  cast  up  his  sharp  grey  eyes  with  a  shrewd 
smile,  as  if  he  understood  the  jest,  but  instantly  continued, 
with  his  former  gravity,  ‘Bridals — wha  wad  neglect  bridals 
that  had  ony  regard  for  plenishing  the  earth  ?  To  be  sure, 
they  suld  be  celebrated  with  all  manner  'of  good  cheer,  and 
meeting  of  friends,  and  musical  instruments  —  harp,  s^ckbut, 
and  psaltery ;  or  gude  fiddle  and  pipes,  when  these  auld-warld 
instruments  of  melody  are  hard  to  be  compassed.’ 

‘  The  presence  of  the  fiddle,  I  daresay,’  replied  Ravenswood, 
‘would  atone  for  the  absence  of  all  others.’ 

The  sexton  again  looked  sharply  up  at  him,  as  he  answered, 
‘Nae  doubt —  nae  doubt,  if  it  were  weel  played;  but  yonder,’ 
he  said,  as  if  to  change  the  discourse,  ‘is  Halbert  Gray’s  lang 
hame,  that  ye  were  speering  after,  just  the  third  bourock 
beyond  the  muckle  through-stane  that  stands  on  sax  legs 
yonder,  abune  some  ane  of  the  Ravenswoods ;  for  there  is 
mony  of  their  kin  and  followers  here,  deil  lift  them !  though 
it  isna  just  their  main  burial-place.’ 

‘  They  are  no  favourites,  then,  of  yours,  these  Ravenswoods  1  ’ 
said  the  Master,  not  much  pleased  with  the  passing  benediction 
which  was  thus  bestowed  on  his  family  and  name. 

‘  I  kenna  wha  should  favour  them,’  said  the  grave-digger  ; 
‘  when  they  had  lands  and  power,  they  were  ill  guides  of  them 
baith,  and  now  their  head ’s  down,  there ’s  few  care  how  lang 
they  may  be  of  lifting  it  again.  ’ 

‘  Indeed  !  ’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘  I  never  heard  that  this  un¬ 
happy  family  deserved  ill-will  at  the  hands  of  their  country.  I 
grant  their  poverty,  if  that  renders  them  contemptible.’ 

‘  It  will  gang  a  far  way  till ’t,’  said  the  sexton  of  Hermitage, 
‘  ye  may  tak  my  word  for  that ;  at  least,  I  ken  naething  else 
that  suld  mak  myself  contemptible,  and  folk  are  far  frae 
respecting  me  as  they  wad  do  if  I  lived  in  a  twa- lofted  sclated 
house.  But  as  for  the  Ravenswoods,  I  hae  seen  three  genera¬ 
tions  of  them,  deil  ane  to  mend  other.’ 


228 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘  I  thought  they  had  enjoyed  a  fair  character  in  the  country,’ 
said  their  descendant. 

‘Character!  Ou,  ye  see,  sir,’  said  the  sexton,  ‘as  for  the 
auld  gudesire  body  of  a  lord,  I  lived  on  his  land  when  I  was  a 
swanking  young  chield,  and  could  hae  blawn  the  trumpet  wi’ 
ony  body,  for  I  had  wind  eneugh  then ;  and  touching  this 
trumpeter  Marine  that  I  have  heard  play  afore  the  lords  of 
the  circuit,  I  wad  hae  made  nae  mair  o’  him  than  of  a  bairn 
and  a  bawbee  whistle.  I  defy  him  to  hae  played  “Boot  and 
saddle,”  or  “Horse  and  away,”  or  “Gallants,  come  trot,”  with 
me  ;  he  hadna  the  tones.’ 

‘  But  what  is  all  this  to  old  Lord  Ravenswood,  my  friend  ?  ’ 
said  the  Master,  who,  with  an  anxiety  not  unnatural  in  his 
circumstances,  was  desirous  of  prosecuting  the  musician’s  first 
topic  —  ‘  what  had  his  memory  to  do  with  the  degeneracy  of 
the  trumpet  music?’ 

‘Just  this,  sir,’  answered  the  sexton,  ‘that  I  lost  my  wind 
in  his  service.  Ye  see  I  was  trumpeter  at  the  castle,  and 
had  allowance  for  blawing  at  break  of  day,  and  at  dinner 
time,  and  other  whiles  when  there  was  company  about,  and 
it  pleased  my  lord ;  and  when  he  raised  his  militia  to  caper 
awa’  to  Bothwell  Brig  against  the  wrang-headed  wastland 
Whigs,  I  behoved,  reason  or  nane,  to  munt  a  horse  and  caper 
awa’  wi’  them.’ 

‘And  very  reasonable,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘you  were  his 
servant  and  vassal.’ 

‘  Servitor,  say  ye  ?  ’  replied  the  sexton,  ‘and  so  I  was  ;  but  it 
was  to  blaw  folk  to  their  warm  dinner,  or  at  the  warst  to  a 
decent  kirkyard,  and  no  to  skirl  them  awa’  to  a  bluidy  braeside, 
where  there  was  deil  a  bedral  but  the  hooded  craw.  But  bide 
ye,  ye  shall  hear  what  cam  o’t,  and  how  far  I  am  bund  to  be 
bedesman  to  the  Ravenswoods.  Till ’t,  ye  see,  we  gaed  on  a 
braw  simmer  morning,  twenty-fourth  of  June,  saxteen  hundred 
and  se’enty-nine,  of  a’  the  days  of  the  month  and  year  —  drums 
beat,  guns  rattled,  horses  kicked  and  trampled.  Hackstoun 
of  Rathillet  keepit  the  brig  wi’  musket  and  carabine  and  pike, 
sword  and  scythe  for  what  I  ken,  and  we  horsemen  were  ordered 
down  to  cross  at  the  ford,  —  I  hate  fords  at  a’  times,  let  abee 
when  there ’s  thousands  of  armed  men  on  the  other  side.  There 
was  auld  Ravenswood  brandishing  his  Andrew  Ferrara  at  the 
head,  and  crying  to  us  to  come  and  buckle  to,  as  if  we  had  been 
gaun  to  a  fair ;  there  was  Caleb  Balderstone,  that  is  living  yet, 
flourishing  in  the  rear,  and  swearing  Gog  and  Magog,  he  would 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


90  n 

put  steel  through  the  guts  of  ony  man  that  turned  bridle ; 
there  was  young  Allan  Itavenswood,  that  was  then  Master,  wi’ 
a  bended  pistol  in  his  hand  —  it  was  a  mercy  it  gaed  na  aff !  — 
crying  to  me,  that  had  scarce  as  much  wind  left  as  serve  the 
necessary  purpose  of  my  ain  lungs,  “  Sound,  you  poltroon  !  — 
sound,  you  damned  cowardly  villain,  or  I  will  blow  your  brains 
out !  ”  and,  to  be  sure,  I  blew  sic  points  of  war  that  the  scraugh 
of  a  clockin-hen  was  music  to  them.’ 

‘Well,  sir,  cut  all  this  short/  said  Itavenswood. 

‘  Short !  I  had  like  to  hae  been  cut  short  mysell,  in  the 
flower  of  my  youth,  as  Scripture  says ;  and  that ’s  the  very 
thing  that  I  compleen  o’.  W eel !  in  to  the  water  we  behoved 
a’  to  splash,  heels  ower  head,  sit  or  fa’  —  ae  horse  driving  on 
anither,  as  is  the  way  of  brute  beasts,  and  riders  that  hae  as 
little  sense ;  the  very  bushes  on  the  ither  side  were  ableeze  wi’ 
the  flashes  of  the  Whig  guns ;  and  my  horse  had  just  taen  the 
grund,  when  a  blacka vised  westland  carle  —  I  wad  mind  the  face 
0’  him  a  hundred  years  yet  —  an  ee  like  a  wild  falcon’s,  and 
a  beard  as  broad  as  my  shovel  —  clapped  the  end  0’  his  lang 
black  gun  within  a  quarter’s  length  of  my  lug  !  By  the  grace  0’ 
Mercy,  the  horse  swarved  round,  and  I  fell  aff  at  the  tae  side  as 
the  ball  whistled  by  at  the  tither,  and  the  fell  auld  lord  took  the 
Whig  such  a  swauk  wi’  his  broadsword  that  he  made  two  pieces 
0’  his  head,  and  down  fell  the  lurdane  wi’  a’  his  bouk  abune  me.’ 

‘You  were  rather  obliged  to  the  old  lord,  I  think,’  said 
Itavenswood. 

‘Was  I  ?  my  sartie !  first  for  bringing  me  into  jeopardy, 
would  I  nould  I,  and  then  for  whomling  a  chield  on  the  tap 
o’  me  that  dang  the  very  wind  out  of  my  body  ?  I  hae  been 
short-breathed  ever  since,  and  canna  gang  twenty  yards  with¬ 
out  peghing  like  a  miller’s  aiver.’ 

‘  You  lost,  then,  your  place  as  trumpeter  *?  ’  said  Itavens¬ 
wood. 

‘Lost  it!  to  be  sure  I  lost  it,’  replied  the  sexton,  ‘for  I 
couldna  hae  played  pew  upon  a  dry  humlock ;  but  I  might  hae 
dune  weel  eneugh,  for  I  keepit  the  wage  and  the  free  house, 
and  little  to  do  but  play  on  the  fiddle  to  them,  but  for  Allan, 
last  Lord  Itavenswood,  that  was  faur  waur  than  ever  his  father 
was.’ 

‘What,’  said  the  Master,  ‘did  my  father  —  I  mean,  did  his 
father’s  son  —  this  last  Lord  Itavenswood,  deprive  you  of  what 
the  bounty  of  his  father  allowed  you  ?  ’ 

‘Ay,  troth  did  he,’  answered  the  old  man;  ‘for  he  loot  his 


230 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


affairs  gang  to  the  dogs,  and  let  in  this  Sir  William  Ashton  on 
us,  that  will  gie  naething  for  naething,  and  just  removed  me 
and  a’  the  puir  creatures  that  had  bite  and  soup  in  the  castle, 
and  a  hole  to  put  our  heads  in,  when  things  were  in  the  auld 
way.’ 

‘  If  Lord  Ravenswood  protected  his  people,  my  friend,  while 
he  had  the  means  of  doing  so,  I  think  they  might  spare  his 
memory,’  replied  the  Master. 

‘Ye  are  welcome  to  your  ain  opinion,  sir,’  said  the  sexton; 
‘  but  ye  winna  persuade  me  that  he  did  his  duty,  either  to  him- 
sell  or  to  huz  puir  dependent  creatures,  in  guiding  us  the  gate 
he  has  done ;  he  might  hae  gien  us  life-rent  tacks  of  our  bits 
o’  houses  and  yards ;  and  me,  that ’s  an  auld  man,  living  in  yon 
miserable  cabin,  that ’s  fitter  for  the  dead  than  the  quick,  and 
killed  wi’  rheumatise,  and  John  Smith  in  my  dainty  bit  mail¬ 
ing,  and  his  window  glazen,  and  a’  because  Ravenswood  guided 
his  gear  like  a  fule  !  ’ 

‘  It  is  but  too  true,’  said  Ravenswood,  conscience-struck ; 
‘  the  penalties  of  extravagance  extend  far  beyond  the  prodigal’s 
own  sufferings.’ 

‘However,’  said  the  sexton,  ‘this  young  man  Edgar  is  like 
to  avenge  my  wrangs  on  the  haill  of  his  kindred.’ 

‘  Indeed  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘  why  should  you  suppose  so  1  ’ 

‘They  say  he  is  about  to  marry  the  daughter  of  Leddy 
Ashton;  and  let  her  leddyship  get  his  head  ance  under  her 
oxter,  and  see  you  if  she  winna  gie  his  neck  a  thraw.  Sorra  a 
bit,  if  I  were  him  !  Let  her  alane  for  hauding  a’thing  in  het 
water  that  draws  near  her.  Sae  the  warst  wish  I  shall  wish  the 
lad  is,  that  he  may  take  his  ain  creditable  gate  o’t,  and  ally 
himsell  wi’  his  father's  enemies,  that  have  taken  his  broad 
lands  and  my  bonny  kail-yard  from  the  lawful  owners  thereof.’ 

Cervantes  acutely  remarks,  that  flattery  is  pleasing  even 
from  the  mouth  of  a  madman ;  and  censure,  as  well  as  praise, 
often  affects  us,  while  we  despise  the  opinions  and  motives  on 
which  it  is  founded  and  expressed.  Ravenswood,  abruptly 
reiterating  his  command  that  Alice’s  funeral  should  be  at¬ 
tended  to,  flung  away  from  the  sexton,  under  the  painful 
impression  that  the  great  as  well  as  the  small  vulgar  would 
think  of  his  engagement  with  Lucy  like  this  ignorant  and  selfish 
peasant. 

‘And  I  have  stooped  to  subject  myself  to  these  calumnies, 
and  am  rejected  notwithstanding !  Lucy,  your  faith  must  be 
true  and  perfect  as  the  diamond  to  compensate  for  the  dis- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  231 

honour  which  men’s  opinions,  and  the  conduct  of  your  mother, 
attach  to  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  !  ’ 

As  he  raised  his  eyes,  he  beheld  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  who, 

having  arrived  at  the  Tod’s  Hole,  had  walked  forth  to  look  for 
his  kinsman. 

After  mutual  greetings,  he  made  some  apology  to  the  Master 
for  not  coming  forward  on  the  preceding  evening.  ‘  It  was  his 
wish,’  he  said,  ‘to  have  done  so,  but  he  had  come  to  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  some  matters  which  induced  him  to  delay  his  purpose. 
I  find,’  he  proceeded,  ‘there  has  been  a  love  affair  here,  kins¬ 
man  ;  and  though  I  might  blame  you  for  not  having  com¬ 
municated  with  me,  as  being  in  some  degree  the  chief  of  your 
family - ’ 

‘With  your  lordship’s  permission,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘I  am 
deeply  grateful  for  the  interest  you  are  pleased  to  take  in  me, 
but  I  am  the  chief  and  head  of  my  family.’ 

‘I  know  it  —  I  know  it,’ said  the  Marquis;  ‘in  a  strict 
heraldic  and  genealogical  sense,  you  certainly  are  so;  what 
I  mean  is,  that  being  in  some  measure  under  my  guardian¬ 
ship  - ’ 

‘I  must  take  the  liberty  to  say,  my  lord - ’  answered 

Ravenswood,  and  the  tone  in  which  he  interrupted  the  Marquis 
boded  no  long  duration  to  the  friendship  of  the  noble  relatives, 
when  he  himself  was  interrupted  by  the  little  sexton,  who  came 
puffing  after  them,  to  ask  if  their  honours  would  choose  music 
at  the  change-house  to  make  up  for  short  cheer. 

‘  W e  want  no  music,  ’  said  the  Master,  abruptly. 

‘Your  honour  disna  ken  what  ye  ’re  refusing,  then,’  said  the 
fiddler,  with  the  impertinent  freedom  of  his  profession.  ‘  I  can 
play,  “Wilt  thou  do ’t  again,”  and  “The  Auld  Man’s  Mear’s 
Dead,”  sax  times  better  than  ever  Patie  Birnie.  I  ’ll  get  my 
fiddle  in  the  turning  of  a  coffin-screw.’ 

‘Take  yourself  away,  sir,’  said  the  Marquis. 

‘And  if  your  honour  be  a  north-country  gentleman,’  said  the 
persevering  minstrel,  ‘whilk  I  wad  judge  from  your  tongue,  I 
can  play  “Liggeram  Cosh,”  and  “Mullin  Dhu,”  and  “The 
Cummers  of  Athole.”  ’ 

‘  Take  yourself  away,  friend  ;  you  interrupt  our  conversation.’ 

‘  Or  if,  under  your  honour’s  favour,  ye  should  happen  to  be 
a  thought  honest,  I  can  play  (this  in  a  low  and  confidential 
tone)  “Killiecrankie,”  and  “The  King  shall  hae  his  ain,”  and 
“The  Auld  Stuarts  back  again  ”  ;  and  the  wife  at  the  change- 
house  is  a  decent,  discreet  body,  neither  kens  nor  cares  what 


232 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


toasts  are  drucken,  and  what  tunes  are  played,  in  her  house : 
she ’s  deaf  to  a’thing  but  the  clink  o’  the  siller.’ 

The  Marquis,  who  was  sometimes  suspected  of  Jacobitism, 
could  not  help  laughing  as  he  threw  the  fellow  a  dollar,  and 
bid  him  go  play  to  the  servants  if  he  had  a  mind,  and  leave 
them  at  peace. 

‘Aweel,  gentlemen,’  said  he,  ‘I  am  wishing  your  honours 
gude  day.  I  ’ll  be  a’  the  better  of  the  dollar,  and  ye  ’ll  be  the 
waur  of  wanting  the  music,  I’se  tell  ye.  But  I’se  gang  hame, 
and  finish  the  grave  in  the  tuning  o’  a  fiddle-string,  lay  by  my 
spade,  and  then  get  my  tother  bread-winner,  and  awa’  to  your 
folk,  and  see  if  they  hae  better  lugs  than  their  masters.’ 


CHAPTER  XXV 


True  love,  an  thou  be  true, 

Thou  hast  ane  kittle  part  to  play  ; 

For  fortune,  fashion,  fancy,  and  thou, 

Maun  strive  for  many  a  day. 

I  ’ve  kend  by  mony  a  friend’s  tale, 

Far  better  by  this  heart  of  mine, 

What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avail 
A  true-love  knot  to  untwine. 

Hendersoun. 

*  'T'  WISHED  to  tell  you,  my  good  kinsman,’  said  the  Mar- 
I  quis,  ‘  now  that  we  are  quit  of  that  impertinent  fiddler, 
A  that  I  had  tried  to  discuss  this  love  affair  of  yours  with 
Sir  William  Ashton’s  daughter.  I  never  saw  the  young  lady 
but  for  a  few  minutes  to-day  ;  so,  being  a  stranger  to  her  per¬ 
sonal  merits,  I  pay  a  compliment  to  you,  and  offer  her  no  offence, 
in  saying  you  might  do  better.’ 

‘  My  lord,  I  am  much  indebted  for  the  interest  you  have 
taken  in  my  affairs,’  said  Ravens  wood.  ‘I  did  not  intend  to 
have  troubled  you  in  any  matter  concerning  Miss  Ashton.  As 
my  engagement  with  that  young  lady  has  reached  your  lord- 
ship,  I  can  only  say,  that  you  must  necessarily  suppose  that  I 
was  aware  of  the  objections  to  my  marrying  into  her  father’s 
family,  and  of  course  must  have  been  completely  satisfied  with 
the  reasons  by  which  these  objections  are  overbalanced,  since  I 
have  proceeded  so  far  in  the  matter.’ 

‘Nay,  Master,  if  you  had  heard  me  out,’  said  his  noble 
relation,  ‘  you  might  have  spared  that  observation ;  for,  with¬ 
out  questioning  that  you  had  reasons  which  seemed  to  you 
to  counterbalance  every  other  obstacle,  I  set  myself,  by  every 
means  that  it  became  me  to  use  towards  the  Ashtons,  to  per¬ 
suade  them  to  meet  your  views. 

‘  I  am  obliged  to  your  lordship  for  your  unsolicited  inter¬ 
cession,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘  especially  as  I  am  sure  your  lord- 


234 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


ship  would  never  carry  it  beyond  the  bounds  which  it  became 
me  to  use.’ 

‘Of  that/  said  the  Marquis,  ‘you  may  be  confident;  I 
myself  felt  the  delicacy  of  the  matter  too  much  to  place  a 
gentleman  nearly  connected  with  my  house  in  a  degrading  or 
dubious  situation  with  these  Ashtons.  But  I  pointed  out  all 
the  advantages  of  their  marrying  their  daughter  into  a  house 
so  honourable,  and  so  nearly  related  with  the  first  in  Scotland ; 
I  explained  the  exact  degree  of  relationship  in  which  the 
Ravenswoods  stand  to  ourselves;  and  I  even  hinted  how 
political  matters  were  like  to  turn,  and  what  cards  would  be 
trumps  next  Parliament.  I  said  I  regarded  you  as  a  son  —  or  a 
nephew,  or  so  —  rather  than  as  a  more  distant  relation ;  and 
that  I  made  your  affair  entirely  my  own.’ 

‘And  what  was  the  issue  of  your  lordship’s  explanation?’ 
said  Ravenswood,  in  some  doubt  whether  he  should  resent  or 
express  gratitude  for  his  interference. 

‘  Why,  the  Lord  Keeper  would  have  listened  to  reason/ 
said  the  Marquis ;  ‘  he  is  rather  unwilling  to  leave  his  place, 
which,  in  the  present  view  of  a  change,  must  be  vacated ;  and, 
to  say  truth,  he  seemed  to  have  a  liking  for  you,  and  to 
be  sensible  of  the  general  advantages  to  be  attained  by 
such  a  match.  But  his  lady,  who  is  tongue  of  the  trump, 
Master - ’ 

‘  What  of  Lady  Ashton,  my  lord  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood  ;  ‘  let 
me  know  the  issue  of  this  extraordinary  conference  :  I  can 
bear  it.’ 

‘  1  am  glad  of  that,  kinsman/  said  the  Marquis,  ‘  for  I  am 
ashamed  to  tell  you  half  what  she  said.  It  is  enough  —  her 
mind  is  made  up,  and  the  mistress  of  a  first-rate  boarding- 
school  could  not  have  rejected  with  more  haughty  indifference 
the  suit  of  a  half-pay  Irish  officer,  beseeching  permission  to 
wait  upon  the  heiress  of  a  West  India  planter,  than  Lady 
Ashton  spurned  every  proposal  of  mediation  which  it  could 
at  all  become  me  to  offer  in  behalf  of  you,  my  good  kinsman. 
I  cannot  guess  what  she  means.  A  more  honourable  con¬ 
nexion  she  could  not  form,  that ’s  certain.  As  for  money  and 
land,  that  used  to  be  her  husband’s  business  rather  than  hers  ; 
I  really  think  she  hates  you  for  having  the  rank  which  her 
husband  has  not,  and  perhaps  for  not  having  the  lands  that 
her  goodman  has.  But  I  should  only  vex  you  to  say  more 
about  it  —  here  we  are  at  the  change-house.’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  paused  as  he  entered  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


235 


cottage,  which  reeked  through  all  its  crevices,  and  they  were 
not  few,  from  the  exertions  of  the  Marquis’s  travelling-cooks 
to  supply  good  cheer,  and  spread,  as  it  were,  a  table  in  the 
wilderness. 

‘  My  Lord  Marquis,’  said  Ravenswood,  £  I  already  mentioned 
that  accident  has  put  your  lordship  in  possession  of  a  secret 
which,  with  my  consent,  should  have  remained  one  even  to 
you,  my  kinsman,  for  some  time.  Since  the  secret  was  to  part 
from  my  own  custody,  and  that  of  the  only  person  besides 
who  was  interested  in  it,  I  am  not  sorry  it  should  have 
reached  your  lordship’s  ears,  as  being  fully  aware  that  you  are 
my  noble  kinsman  and  friend.’ 

‘You  may  believe  it  is  safely  lodged  with  me,  Master  of 
Ravenswood,’  said  the  Marquis;  ‘but  I  should  like  well  to 
hear  you  say  that  you  renounced  the  idea  of  an  alliance 
which  you  can  hardly  pursue  without  a  certain  degree  of 
degradation.  ’ 

‘  Of  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  judge,’  answered  Ravenswood, 
‘and  I  hope  with  delicacy  as  sensitive  as  any  of  my  friends. 
But  I  have  no  engagement  with  Sir  William  and  Lady  Ashton. 
It  is  with  Miss  Ashton  alone  that  I  have  entered  upon  the  sub¬ 
ject,  and  my  conduct  in  the  matter  shall  be  entirely  ruled  by 
hers.  If  she  continues  to  prefer  me  in  my  poverty  to  the 
wealthier  suitors  whom  her  friends  recommend,  I  may  well 
make  some  sacrifice  to  her  sincere  affection :  I  may  well 
surrender  to  her  the  less  tangible  and  less  palpable  advantages 
of  birth,  and  the  deep-rooted  prejudices  of  family  hatred.  If 
Miss  Lucy  Ashton  should  change  her  mind  on  a  subject  of 
such  delicacy,  I  trust  my  friends  will  be  silent  on  my  disap¬ 
pointment,  and  I  shall  know  how  to  make  my  enemies  so.’ 

‘  Spoke  like  a  gallant  young  nobleman,’  said  the  Marquis ; 
‘for  my  part,  I  have  that  regard  for  you,  that  I  should  be 
sorry  the  thing  wrent  on.  This  Sir  William  Ashton  was  a 
pretty  enough  pettifogging  kind  of  a  lawyer  twenty  years  ago, 
and  betwixt  battling  at  the  bar  and  leading  in  committees 
of  Parliament  he  has  got  well  on  ;  the  Darien  matter  lent  him 
a  lift,  for  he  had  good  intelligence  and  sound  views,  and  sold 
out  in  time ;  but  the  best  work  is  had  out  of  him.  No 
government  will  take  him  at  his  own,  or  rather  his  wife’s 
extravagant,  valuation ;  and  betwixt  his  indecision  and  her 
insolence,  from  all  I  can  guess,  he  will  outsit  his  market,  and 
be  had  cheap  when  no  one  will  bid  for  him.  I  say  nothing  of 
Miss  Ashton;  but  I  assure  you,  a  connexion  with  her  father 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


236 

will  be  neither  useful  nor  ornamental,  beyond  that  part  of 
your  father’s  spoils  which  he  may  be  prevailed  upon  to  dis¬ 
gorge  by  way  of  tocher-good ;  and  take  my  word  for  it,  you 
will  get  more  if  you  have  spirit  to  bell  the  cat  with  him  in 
the  House  of  Peers.  And  I  will  be  the  man,  cousin,’  con¬ 
tinued  his  lordship,  ‘  will  course  the  fox  for  you,  and  make  him 
rue  the  day  that  ever  he  refused  a  composition  too  honourable 
for  him,  and  proposed  by  me  on  the  behalf  of  a  kinsman.’ 

There  was  something  in  all  this  that,  as  it  were,  overshot 
the  mark.  Ravenswood  could  not  disguise  from  himself  that 
liis  noble  kinsman  had  more  reasons  for  taking  offence  at  the 
reception  of  his  suit  than  regarded  his  interest  and  honour, 
yet  he  could  neither  complain  nor  be  surprised  that  it  should 
be  so.  He  contented  himself,  therefore,  with  repeating,  that 
his  attachment  was  to  Miss  Ashton  personally ;  that  he  desired 
neither  wealth  nor  aggrandisement  from  her  father’s  means 
and  influence ;  and  that  nothing  should  prevent  his  keeping  his 
engagement,  excepting  her  own  express  desire  that  it  should 
be  relinquished ;  and  he  requested  as  a  favour  that  the  matter 
might  be  no  more  mentioned  betwixt  them  at  present,  assuring 

the  Marquis  of  A - that  he  should  be  his  confidant  in  its 

progress  or  its  interruption. 

The  Marquis  soon  had  more  agreeable,  as  well  as  more  in¬ 
teresting,  subjects  on  which  to  converse.  A  foot-post,  who  had 
followed  him  from  Edinburgh  to  Ravenswood  Castle,  and  had 
traced  his  steps  to  the  Tod’s  Hole,  brought  him  a  packet  laden 
with  good  news.  The  political  calculations  of  the  Marquis  had 
proved  just,  both  in  London  and  at  Edinburgh,  and  he  saw 
almost  within  his  grasp  the  pre-eminence  for  which  he  had 
panted.  The  refreshments  which  the  servants  had  prepared 
were  now  put  on  the  table,  and  an  epicure  would  perhaps  have 
enjoyed  them  with  additional  zest  from  the  contrast  which 
such  fare  afforded  to  the  miserable  cabin  in  which  it  was 
served  up. 

The  turn  of  conversation  corresponded  with  and  added  to 
the  social  feelings  of  the  company.  The  Marquis  expanded 
with  pleasure  on  the  power  which  probable  incidents  were  likely 
to  assign  to  him,  and  on  the  use  which  he  hoped  to  make  of  it 
in  serving  his  kinsman  Ravenswood.  Ravenswood  could  but 
repeat  the  gratitude  which  he  really  felt,  even  when  he  con¬ 
sidered  the  topic  as  too  long  dwelt  upon.  The  wine  was  ex¬ 
cellent,  notwithstanding  its  having  been  brought  in  a  runlet 
from  Edinburgh ;  and  the  habits  of  the  Marquis,  when  engaged 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


237 


with  such  good  cheer,  were  somewhat  sedentary.  And  so  it  fell 
out  that  they  delayed  their  journey  two  hours  later  than  was 
their  original  purpose. 

‘  But  what  of  that,  my  good  young  friend  'l  ’  said  the  Marquis. 
‘Your  Castle  of  Wolfs  Crag  is  but  five  or  six  miles’  distance, 

and  will  afford  the  same  hospitality  to  your  kinsman  of  A - 

that  it  gave  to  this  same  Sir  William  Ashton.’ 

‘Sir  William  took  the  castle  by  storm,’  said  Ravenswood, 
‘  and,  like  many  a  victor,  had  little  reason  to  congratulate  him¬ 
self  on  his  conquest.’ 

‘Well  —  well !  ’  said  Lord  A - ,  whose  dignity  was  something 

relaxed  by  the  wine  he  had  drunk,  ‘  I  see  I  must  bribe  you  to 
harbour  me.  Come,  pledge  me  in  a  bumper  health  to  the  last 
young  lady  that  slept  at  Wolf’s  Crag,  and  liked  her  quarters. 
My  bones  are  not  so  tender  as  hers,  and  I  am  resolved  to  occupy 
her  apartment  to-night,  that  I  may  judge  how  hard  the  couch 
is  that  love  can  soften.’ 

‘Your  lordship  may  choose  what  penance  you  please,’  said 
Ravenswood  ;  ‘  but  I  assure  you,  I  should  expect  my  old  servant 
to  hang  himself,  or  throw  himself  from  the  battlements,  should 
your  lordship  visit  him  so  unexpectedly.  I  do  assure  you,  we 
are  totally  and  literally  unprovided.’ 

But  his  declaration  only  brought  from  his  noble  patron  an 
assurance  of  his  own  total  indifference  as  to  every  species  of 
accommodation,  and  his  determination  to  see  the  Tower  of  W olf’s 
Crag.  His  ancestor,  he  said,  had  been  feasted  there,  when  he 
went  forward  with  the  then  Lord  Ravenswood  to  the  fatal 
battle  of  Flodden,  in  which  they  both  fell.  Thus  hard  pressed, 
the  Master  offered  to  ride  forward  to  get  matters  put  in  such 
preparation  as  time  and  circumstances  admitted ;  but  the  Mar¬ 
quis  protested  his  kinsman  must  afford  him  his  company,  and 
would  only  consent  that  an  avant-courier  should  carry  to  the 
destined  seneschal,  Caleb  Balderstone,  the  unexpected  news  of 
this  invasion. 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  soon  after  accompanied  the  Mar¬ 
quis  in  his  carriage,  as  the  latter  had  proposed  ;  and  when  they 
became  better  acquainted  in  the  progress  of  the  journey,  his 
noble  relation  explained  the  very  liberal  views  which  he  enter¬ 
tained  for  his  relation’s  preferment,  in  case  of  the  success  of  his 
own  political  schemes.  They  related  to  a  secret  and  highly 
important  commission  beyond  sea,  which  could  only  be  entrusted 
to  a  person  of  rank,  and  talent,  and  perfect  confidence,  and  which, 
as  it  required  great  trust  and  reliance  on  the  envoy  employed, 


238 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


could  not  but  prove  both  honourable  and  advantageous  to  him. 
We  need  not  enter  into  the  nature  and  purpose  of  this  commis¬ 
sion,  farther  than  to  acquaint  our  readers  that  the  charge  was 
in  prospect  highly  acceptable  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
who  hailed  with  pleasure  the  hope  of  emerging  from  his  present 
state  of  indigence  and  inaction  into  independence  and  honour¬ 
able  exertion. 

While  he  listened  thus  eagerly  to  the  details  with  which  the 
Marquis  now  thought  it  necessary  to  entrust  him,  the  messenger 
who  had  been  despatched  to  the  Tower  of  W olf  s  Crag  returned 
with  Caleb  Balderstone’s  humble  duty,  and  an  assurance  that 
‘a’  should  be  in  seemly  order,  sic  as  the  hurry  of  time  per¬ 
mitted,  to  receive  their  lordships  as  it  behoved.’ 

Ravenswood  was  too  well  accustomed  to  his  seneschal’s  mode 
of  acting  and  speaking  to  hope  much  from  this  confident 
assurance.  He  knew  that  Caleb  acted  upon  the  principle  of 

the  Spanish  generals,  in  the  compaign  of - ,  who,  much  to 

the  perplexity  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  their  commander-in¬ 
chief,  used  to  report  their  troops  as  full  in  number,  and  pos¬ 
sessed  of  all  necessary  points  of  equipment,  not  considering  it 
consistent  with  their  dignity,  or  the  honour  of  Spain,  to  confess 
any  deficiency  either  in  men  or  munition,  until  the  want  of 
both  was  unavoidably  discovered  in  the  day  of  battle.  Accord¬ 
ingly,  Ravenswood  thought  it  necessary  to  give  the  Marquis 
some  hint  that  the  fair  assurance  which  they  had  just  received 
from  Caleb  did  not  by  any  means  ensure  them  against  a  very 
indifferent  reception. 

‘You  do  yourself  injustice,  Master,’  said  the  Marquis,  ‘or 
you  wish  to  surprise  me  agreeably.  From  this  window  I  see  a 
great  light  in  the  direction  where,  if  I  remember  aright,  Wolf’s 
Crag  lies ;  and,  to  judge  from  the  splendour  which  the  old  Tower 
sheds  around  it,  the  preparations  for  our  reception  must  be  of 
no  ordinary  description.  I  remember  your  father  putting  the 
same  deception  on  me,  when  we  went  to  the  Tower  for  a  few 
days’  hawking,  about  twenty  years  since,  and  yet  we  spent  our 
time  as  jollily  at  Wolf’s  Crag  as  we  could  have  done  at  my 
own  hunting  seat  at  B - .’ 

‘  Your  lordship,  I  fear,  will  experience  that  the  faculty 
of  the  present  proprietor  to  entertain  his  friends  is  greatly 
abridged,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘the  will,  I  need  hardly  say, 
remains  the  same.  But  I  am  as  much  at  a  loss  as  your  lord- 
ship  to  account  for  so  strong  and  brilliant  a  light  as  is  now 
above  Wolf’s  Crag;  the  windows  of  the  Tower  are  few  and 


The  Fire  at  W olf  s  Crag 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


239 


narrow,  and  those  of  the  lower  story  are  hidden  from  us  by 
the  walls  of  the  court.  1  cannot  conceive  that  any  illumina¬ 
tion  of  an  ordinary  nature  could  afford  such  a  blaze  of  light/ 

The  mystery  was  soon  explained;  for  the  cavalcade  almost 
instantly  halted,  and  the  voice  of  Caleb  Balderstone  was  heard 
at  the  coach  window,  exclaiming,  in  accents  broken  by  grief 
and  fear,  ‘  Och,  gentlemen  !  Och,  my  gude  lords  !  Och,  haud 
to  the  right !  Wolfs  Crag  is  burning,  bower  and  ha’  —  a5  the 
rich  plenishing  outside  and  inside  —  a’  the  fine  graith,  pictures, 
tapestries,  needle-wark,  hangings,  and  other  decorements  —  a’ 
in  a  bleeze,  as  if  they  were  nae  mair  than  sae  mony  peats,  or 
as  muckle  pease -strae  !  Haud  to  the  right,  gentlemen,  I  implore 
ye  ;  there  is  some  sma’  provision  making  at  Luckie  Sma’trash’s ; 
but  0,  wae  for  this  night,  and  wae  for  me  that  lives  to  see  it !  ’ 

Ravenswood  was  at  first  stunned  by  this  new  and  unexpected 
calamity  ;  but  after  a  moment’s  recollection  he  sprang  from  the 
carriage,  and  hastily  bidding  his  noble  kinsman  good-night,  was 
about  to  ascend  the  hill  towards  the  castle,  the  broad  and  full 
conflagration  of  which  now  flung  forth  a  high  column  of  red 
light,  that  flickered  far  to  seaward  upon  the  dashing  waves  of 
the  ocean. 

‘  Take  a  horse,  Master,’  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  greatly 
affected  by  this  additional  misfortune,  so  unexpectedly  heaped 
upon  his  young  protege ;  1  and  give  me  my  ambling  palfrey ; 
and  haste  forward,  you  knaves,  to  see  what  can  be  done  to 
save  the  furniture,  or  to  extinguish  the  fire  —  ride,  you  knaves, 
for  your  lives  !  ’ 

The  attendants  bustled  together,  and  began  to  strike  their 
horses  with  the  spur,  and  call  upon  Caleb  to  show  them  the 
road.  But  the  voice  of  that  careful  seneschal  was  heard  above 
the  tumult,  ‘  0,  stop  —  sirs,  stop  —  turn  bridle,  for  the  love  of 
Mercy ;  add  not  loss  of  lives  to  the  loss  of  warld’s  gear  !  Thirty 
barrels  of  powther,  landed  out  of  a  Dunkirk  dogger  in  the  auld 
lord’s  time  —  a ’  in  the  vau’ts  of  the  auld  tower,  —  the  fire  canna 
be  far  aff  it,  I  trow.  Lord’s  sake,  to  the  right,  lads  —  to  the 
right ;  let ’s  pit  the  hill  atween  us  and  peril  —  a  wap  wi’  a 
corner-stane  o’  Wolf’s  Crag  wad  defy  the  doctor  !  ’ 

It  will  readily  be  supposed  that  this  annunciation  hurried 
the  Marquis  and  his  attendants  into  the  route  which  Caleb 
prescribed,  dragging  Ravenswood  along  with  them,  although 
there  was  much  in  the  matter  which  he  could  not  possibly 
comprehend.  ‘  Gunpowder  !  ’  he  exclaimed,  laying  hold  of  Caleb, 
who  in  vain  endeavoured  to  escape  from  him,  ‘  what  gunpowder  ? 


MO 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


How  any  quantity  of  powder  could  be  in  Wolf’s  Crag  without 
my  knowledge,  I  cannot  possibly  comprehend.’ 

‘But  I  can,’  interrupted  the  Marquis,  whispering  him,  ‘I 
can  comprehend  it  thoroughly;  for  God’s  sake,  ask  him  no 
more  questions  at  present.’ 

‘  There  it  is,  now,’  said  Caleb,  extricating  himself  from  his 
master,  and  adjusting  his  dress,  ‘your  honour  will  believe  his 
lordship’s  honourable  testimony.  His  lordship  minds  weel  how, 
in  the  year  that  him  they  ca’d  King  Willie  died - ’ 

‘  Hush  !  hush,  my  good  friend  !  ’  said  the  Marquis ;  ‘  I  shall 
satisfy  your  master  upon  that  subject.’ 

‘And  the  people  at  Wolf’s  Hope,’  said  Ptavenswood,  ‘did 
none  of  them  come  to  your  assistance  before  the  flame  got  so 
high  ?  ’ 

‘  Ay  did  they,  mony  ane  of  them,  the  rapscallions !  ’  said 
Caleb ;  ‘  but  truly  I  was  in  nae  hurry  to  let  them  into  the 
Tower,  where  there  were  so  much  plate  and  valuables.’ 

‘Confound  you  for  an  impudent  liar!  ’  said  Ravenswood,  in 
uncontrollable  ire,  ‘  there  was  not  a  single  ounce  of - ’ 

‘  Forbye,’  said  the  butler,  most  irreverently  raising  his  voice 
to  a  pitch  which  drowned  his  master’s,  ‘  the  fire  made  fast  on 
us,  owing  to  the  store  of  tapestry  and  carved  timmer  in  the 
banqueting-ha’,  and  the  loons  ran  like  scauded  rats  sae  sune 
as  they  heard  of  the  gunpouther.’ 

‘I  clo  entreat,’  said  the  Marquis  to  Ravenswood,  ‘you  will 
ask  him  no  more  questions.’ 

‘  Only  one,  my  lord.  What  has  become  of  poor  Mysie  1  ’ 

‘  Mysie  !  ’  said  Caleb,  ‘  I  had  nae  time  to  look  about  ony  Mysie ; 
she ’s  in  the  Tower,  I’se  warrant,  biding  her  awful  doom.’ 

‘  By  heaven,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘  I  do  not  understand  all 
this  !  The  life  of  a  faithful  old  creature  is  at  stake  ;  my  lord, 
I  will  be  withheld  no  longer ;  I  will  at  least  ride  up,  and  see 
whether  the  danger  is  as  imminent  as  this  old  fool  pretends.’ 

‘Weel,  then,  as  I  live  by  bread,’  said  Caleb,  ‘Mysie  is  weel 
and  safe.  I  saw  her  out  of  the  castle  before  I  left  it  mysell. 
Was  I  ganging  to  forget  an  auld  fellowT- servant  %  ’ 

‘  What  made  you  tell  me  the  contrary  this  moment  ?  ’  said 
his  master. 

‘  Did  I  tell  you  the  contrary  ?  ’  said  Caleb  ;  ‘  then  I  maun 
hae  been  dreaming  surely,  or  this  awsome  night  has  turned 
my  judgment;  but  safe  she  is,  and  ne’er  living  a  soul  in  the 
castle,  a’  the  better  for  them  :  they  wad  have  gotten  an  unco 
heezy.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


241 


The  Master  of  Ravenswood,  upon  this  assurance  being 
solemnly  reiterated,  and  notwithstanding  his  extreme  wish  to 
witness  the  last  explosion,  which  was  to  ruin  to  the  ground 
the  mansion  of  his  fathers,  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  on¬ 
ward  towards  the  village  of  Wolfs  Hope,  where  not  only  the 
change-house,  but  that  of  our  well-known  friend  the  cooper, 
were  all  prepared  for  reception  of  himself  and  his  noble  guest, 
with  a  liberality  of  provision  which  requires  some  explanation. 

We  omitted  to  mention  in  its  place,  that  Lockhard  having 
fished  out  the  truth  concerning  the  mode  by  which  Caleb  had 
obtained  the  supplies  for  his  banquet,  the  Lord  Keeper,  amused 
with  the  incident,  and  desirous  at  the  time  to  gratify  Ravens¬ 
wood,  had  recommended  the  cooper  of  Wolfs  Hope  to  the  official 
situation  under  government  the  prospect  of  which  had  recon¬ 
ciled  him  to  the  loss  of  his  wild-fowl.  Mr.  Girder’s  preferment 
had  occasioned  a  pleasing  surprise  to  old  Caleb ;  for  when, 
some  days  after  his  master’s  departure,  he  found  himself  ab¬ 
solutely  compelled,  by  some  necessary  business,  to  visit  the 
fishing  hamlet,  and  was  gliding  like  a  ghost  past  the  door  of 
the  cooper,  for  fear  of  being  summoned  to  give  some  account  of 
the  progress  of  the  solicitation  in  his  favour,  or,  more  probably, 
that  the  inmates  might  upbraid  him  with  the  false  hope  he  had 
held  out  upon  the  subject,  he  heard  himself,  not  without  some 
apprehension,  summoned  at  once  in  treble,  tenor,  and  bass  —  a 
trio  performed  by  the  voices  of  Mrs.  Girder,  old  Dame  Loup- 
the-Dyke,  and  the  goodman  of  the  dwelling  —  ‘  Mr.  Caleb  !  — 
Mr.  Caleb  !  —  Mr.  Caleb  Balderstone  !  I  hope  ye  arena  ganging 
dry-lipped  by  our  door,  and  we  sae  muckle  indebted  to  you  ?  ’ 

This  might  be  said  ironically  as  well  as  in  earnest.  Caleb 
augured  the  worst,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  trio  aforesaid,  and 
was  moving  doggedly  on,  his  ancient  castor  pulled  over  his 
brows,  and  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  as  if  to  count  the 
flinty  pebbles  with  which  the  rude  pathway  was  causewayed. 
But  on  a  sudden  he  found  himself  surrounded  in  his  progress,  like 
a  stately  merchantman  in  the  Gut  of  Gibraltar  (I  hope  the  ladies 
will  excuse  the  tarpaulin  phrase)  by  three  Algerine  galleys. 

‘  Gude  guide  us,  Mr.  Balderstone  !  ’  said  Mrs.  Girder. 

‘  Wha  wad  hae  thought  it  of  an  auld  and  kenn’d  friend !  ’ 
said  the  mother. 

‘And  no  sae  muckle  as  stay  to  receive  our  thanks,’  said  the 
cooper  himself,  ‘and  frae  the  like  o’  me  that  seldom  offers 
them  !  I  am  sure  I  hope  there ’s  nae  ill  seed  sawn  between  us, 
Mr.  Balderstone.  Ony  man  that  has  said  to  ye  I  am  no  gratefu’ 

VOL.  VIII.  — 16 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


qaq 

for  the  situation  of  Queen’s  cooper,  let  me  hae  a  whample  at 
him  wi’  mine  eatche,1  that’s  a’.’ 

‘My  good  friends  —  my  dear  friends,’  said  Caleb,  still  doubt¬ 
ing  how  the  certainty  of  the  matter  might  stand,  ‘  what  needs 
a’  this  ceremony  Ane  tries  to  serve  their  friends,  and  some¬ 
times  they  may  happen  to  prosper,  and  sometimes  to  misgie. 
Naething  I  care  to  be  fashed  wi’  less  than  thanks ;  I  never  could 
bide  them.’ 

‘  Faith,  Mr.  Balderstone,  ye  suld  hae  been  fashed  wi’  few  o’ 
mine,’  said  the  downright  man  of  staves  and  hoops,  ‘if  I  had 
only  your  gude-will  to  thank  ye  for  :  I  suld  e’en  hae  set  the 
guse,  and  the  wild  deukes,  and  the  runlet  of  sack  to  balance 
that  account.  Gude-will,  maun,  is  a  geizen’d  tub,  that  bauds  in 
nae  liquor ;  but  gude  deed ’s  like  the  cask,  tight,  round,  and 
sound,  that  will  baud  liquor  for  the  king.’ 

‘  Have  ye  no  heard  of  our  letter,’  said  the  mother-in-law/  mak¬ 
ing  our  John  the  Queen’s  cooper  for  certain  ?  and  scarce  a  chield 
that  had  ever  hammered  gird  upon  tub  but  was  applying  for  it  I  ’ 

‘  Have  I  heard !  !  !  ’  said  Caleb,  who  now  found  how  the 
wind  set,  with  an  accent  of  exceeding  contempt  at  the  doubt 
expressed  —  ‘have  I  heard,  quo’  she!  !  !’  and  as  he  spoke  he 
changed  his  shambling,  skulking,  dodging  pace  into  a  manly 
and  authoritative  step,  readjusted  his  cocked  hat,  and  suffered 
his  brow  to  emerge  from  under  it  in  all  the  pride  of  aristocracy, 
like  the  sun  from  behind  a  cloud. 

‘  To  be  sure,  he  canna  but  hae  heard,’  said  the  good  woman. 

‘Ay,  to  be  sure,  it’s  impossible  but  I  should,’  said  Caleb; 
‘and  sae  I  ’ll  be  the  first  to  kiss  ye,  joe,  and  wish  you,  cooper, 
much  joy  of  your  preferment,  naething  doubting  but  ye  ken 
wha  are  your  friends,  and  have  helped  ye,  and  can  help  ye.  I 
thought  it  right  to  look  a  wee  strange  upon  it  at  first,’  added 
Caleb,  ‘just  to  see  if  ye  were  made  of  the  right  mettle  ;  but  ye 
ring  true,  lad  —  ye  ring  true  !  ’ 

So  saying,  with  a  most  lordly  air  he  kissed  the  women,  and 
abandoned  his  hand,  with  an  air  of  serene  patronage,  to  the 
hearty  shake  of  Mr.  Girder’s  horn-hard  palm.  Upon  this  com¬ 
plete,  and  to  Caleb  most  satisfactory,  information  he  did  not, 
it  may  readily  be  believed,  hesitate  to  accept  an  invitation  to  a 
solemn  feast,  to  which  were  invited,  not  only  all  the  notables 
of  the  village,  but  even  his  ancient  antagonist,  Mr.  Dingwall, 
himself.  At  this  festivity  he  was,  of  course,  the  most  welcome 
and  most  honoured  guest ;  and  so  well  did  he  ply  the  company 


1  Anglice,  adze. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


243 


with  stories  of  what  he  could  do  with  his  master,  his  master 
with  the  Lord  Keeper,  the  Lord  Keeper  with  the  council,  and 
the  council  with  the  king,  that  before  the  company  dismissed 
(which  was,  indeed,  rather  at  an  early  hour  than  a  late  one), 
every  man  of  note  in  the  village  was  ascending  to  the  top¬ 
gallant  of  some  ideal  preferment  by  the  ladder  of  ropes  which 
Caleb  had  presented  to  their  imagination.  Nay,  the  cunning 
butler  regained  in  that  moment  not  only  all  the  influence  he 
possessed  formerly  over  the  villagers,  when  the  baronial  family 
which  he  served  were  at  the  proudest,  but  acquired  even  an 
accession  of  importance.  The  writer  —  the  very  attorney  him¬ 
self,  such  is  the  thirst  of  preferment  —  felt  the  force  of  the 
attraction,  and  taking  an  opportunity  to  draw  Caleb  into  a 
corner,  spoke,  with  affectionate  regret,  of  the  declining  health 
of  the  sheriff-clerk  of  the  county. 

‘  An  excellent  man  —  a  most  valuable  man,  Mr.  Caleb ;  but 
fat  sail  I  say !  we  are  peer  feckless  bodies,  here  the  day  and 
awa’  by  cock-screech  the  morn ;  and  if  he  failzies,  there  maun 
be  somebody  in  his  place  ;  and  gif  that  ye  could  airt  it  my  way, 
I  sail  be  thankful,  man  —  a  gluve  staffed  wi7  gowd  nobles  ;  an7 
hark  ye,  man,  something  canny  till  yoursell,  and  the  Wolfs 
Hope  carles  to  settle  kindly  wi’  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  — 
that  is,  Lord  Ravenswood  —  God  bless  his  lordship ! 7 

A  smile,  and  a  hearty  squeeze  by  the  hand,  was  the  suitable 
answer  to  this  overture ;  and  Caleb  made  his  escape  from  the 
jovial  party,  in  order  to  avoid  committing  himself  by  any 
special  promises. 

‘  The  Lord  be  gude  to  me,7  said  Caleb,  when  he  found  himself 
in  the  open  air,  and  at  liberty  to  give  vent  to  the  self-exultation 
with  which  he  was,  as  it  were,  distended ;  ‘  did  ever  ony  man 
see  sic  a  set  of  green-gaislings  ?  The  very  pick-maws  and  solan- 
geese  out-bye  yonder  at  the  Bass  hae  ten  times  their  sense ! 
God,  an  I  had  been  the  Lord  High  Commissioner  to  the  Estates 
o7  Parliament,  they  couldna  hae  beflumm’d  me  mair ;  and,  to 
speak  Heaven’s  truth,  I  could  hardly  hae  beflumm’d  them  better 
neither  !  But  the  writer  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  ah,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  mercy 
on  me,  that  I  suld  live  in  my  auld  days  to  gie  the  gang-bye  to 
the  very  writer  !  Sheriff-clerk  ! ! !  But  I  hae  an  auld  account 
to  settle  wi7  the  carle ;  and  to  make  amends  for  bye-ganes,  the 
office  shall  just  cost  him  as  much  time-serving  as  if  he  were 
to  get  it  in  gude  earnest,  of  whilk  there  is  sma7  appearance, 
unless  the  Master  learns  mair  the  ways  of  this  warld,  whilk  it 
is  muckle  to  be  doubted  that  he  never  will  do,7 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


Why  flames  yon  far  summit  —  why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 

'T  is  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  thine  eyrie,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  Heaven. 

Campbell. 

THE  circumstances  announced  in  the  conclusion  of  the 
last  chapter  will  account  for  the  ready  and  cheerful  re¬ 
ception  of  the  Marquis  of  A - and  the  Master  of 

Ravenswood  in  the  village  of  Wolfs  Hope.  In  fact,  Caleb  had  no 
sooner  announced  the  conflagration  of  the  tower  than  the  whole 
hamlet  were  upon  foot  to  hasten  to  extinguish  the  flames.  And 
although  that  zealous  adherent  diverted  their  zeal  by  intimat¬ 
ing  the  formidable  contents  of  the  subterranean  apartments, 
yet  the  check  only  turned  their  assiduity  into  another  direction. 
Never  had  there  been  such  slaughtering  of  capons,  and  fat 
geese,  and  barn-door  fowls ;  never  such  boiling  of  ‘  reested  ’  hams ; 
never  such  making  of  car-cakes  and  sweet  scones,  Selkirk  ban¬ 
nocks,  cookies,  and  petticoat-tails  —  delicacies  little  known  to 
the  present  generation.  Never  had  there  been  such  a  tapping 
of  barrels,  and  such  uncorking  of  greybeards,  in  the  village  of 
Wolfs  Hope.  All  the  inferior  houses  were  thrown  open  for 
the  reception  of  the  Marquis’s  dependants,  who  came,  it  was 
thought,  as  precursors  of  the  shower  of  preferment  which  here¬ 
after  was  to  leave  the  rest  of  Scotland  dry,  in  order  to  distil  its 
rich  dews  on  the  village  of  Wolfs  Hope  under  Lammermoor. 
The  minister  put  in  his  claim  to  have  the  guests  of  distinction 
lodged  at  the  manse,  having  his  eye,  it  was  thought,  upon  a 
neighbouring  preferment,  where  the  incumbent  was  sickly ;  but 
Mr.  Balderstone  destined  that  honour  to  the  cooper,  his  wife, 
and  wife’s  mother,  who  danced  for  joy  at  the  preference  thus 
assigned  them. 

Many  a  beck  and  many  a  bow  welcomed  these  noble  guests 
to  as  good  entertainment  as  persons  of  such  rank  could  set 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


245 


before  such  visitors  ;  and  the  old  dame,  who  had  formerly  lived 
in  Ravenswood  Castle,  and  knew,  as  she  said,  the  ways  of  the 
nobility,  was  in  no  whit  wanting  in  arranging  matters,  as  well 
as  circumstances  permitted,  according  to  the  etiquette  of  the 
times.  The  cooper’s  house  was  so  roomy  that  each  guest  had 
his  separate  retiring-room,  to  which  they  were  ushered  with  all 
due  ceremony,  while  the  plentiful  supper  was  in  the  act  of 
being  placed  upon  the  table. 

Ravenswood  no  sooner  found  himself  alone  than,  impelled 
by  a  thousand  feelings,  he  left  the  apartment,  the  house,  and 
the  village,  and  hastily  retraced  his  steps  to  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  which  rose  betwixt  the  village  and  screened  it  from  the 
tower,  in  order  to  view  the  final  fall  of  the  house  of  his  fathers. 
Some  idle  boys  from  the  hamlet  had  taken  the  same  direction 
out  of  curiosity,  having  first  witnessed  the  arrival  of  the  coach 
and  six  and  its  attendants.  As  they  ran  one  by  one  past  the 
Master,  calling  to  each  other  to  ‘  Come  and  see  the  auld  tower 
blaw  up  in  the  lift  like  the  peelings  of  an  ingan,’  he  could  not 
but  feel  himself  moved  with  indignation.  ‘  And  these  are  the 
sons  of  my  father’s  vassals,’  he  said  —  ‘  of  men  bound,  both  by 
law  and  gratitude,  to  follow  our  steps  through  battle,  and  fire, 
and  flood  ;  and  now  the  destruction  of  their  liege  lord’s  house 
is  but  a  holiday’s  sight  to  them !  ’ 

These  exasperating  reflections  were  partly  expressed  in  the 
acrimony  with  which  he  exclaimed,  on  feeling  himself  pulled  by 
the  cloak  —  ‘  What  do  you  want,  you  dog  ?  ’ 

‘  I  am  a  dog,  and  an  auld  dog  too,’  answered  Caleb,  for  it 
was  he  who  had  taken  the  freedom,  ‘  and  I  am  like  to  get  a 
dog’s  wages  ;  but  it  does  not  signification  a  pinch  of  sneeshing, 
for  I  am  ower  auld  a  dog  to  learn  new  tricks,  or  to  follow  a  new 
master.’ 

As  he  spoke,  Ravenswood  attained  the  ridge  of  the  hill  from 
which  Wolfs  Crag  was  visible;  the  flames  had  entirely  sunk 
down,  and,  to  his  great  surprise,  there  was  only  a  dusky  redden¬ 
ing  upon  the  clouds  immediately  over  the  castle,  which  seemed 
the  reflection  of  the  embers  of  the  sunken  fire. 

‘The  place  cannot  have  blown  up,’  said  the  Master;  ‘we 
must  have  heard  the  report :  if  a  quarter  of  the  gunpowder  was 
there  you  tell  me  of,  it  would  have  been  heard  twenty  miles  off.’ 
‘It’s  very  like  it  wad,’  said  Balderstone,  composedly. 

‘  Then  the  fire  cannot  have  reached  the  vaults  ?  ’ 

‘  It ’s  like  no,’  answered  Caleb,  with  the  same  impenetrable 
gravity. 


246 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Hark  ye,  Caleb,’  said  his  master,  ‘this  grows  a  little  too 
much  for  my  patience.  I  must  go  and  examine  how  matters 
stand  at  Wolf’s  Crag  myself.’ 

‘  Your  honour  is  ganging  to  gang  nae  sic  gate,’  said  Caleb, 
firmly. 

‘And  why  not  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood,  sharply ;  ‘  who  or  what 
shall  prevent  me  ?  ’ 

‘Even  I  rnysell,'  said  Caleb,  with  the  same  determination. 

‘  You,  Balderstone  !  ’  replied  the  Master  ;  ‘  you  are  forgetting 
yourself,  I  think.’ 

‘  But  I  think  no,’  said  Balderstone  ;  ‘for  I  can  just  tell  ye  a’ 
about  the  castle  on  this  knowe-head  as  weel  as  if  ye  were  at  it. 
Only  dinna  pit  yoursell  into  a  kippage,  and  expose  yoursell 
before  the  weans,  or  before  the  Marquis,  when  ye  gang  down-bye.’ 

‘Speak  out,  you  old  fool,’  replied  his  master,  ‘and  let  me 
know  the  best  and  the  worst  at  once.’ 

‘  Ou,  the  best  and  the  warst  is,  just  that  the  tower  is  stand¬ 
ing  haill  and  feir,  as  safe  and  as  empty  as  when  ye  left  it.’ 

‘  Indeed  !  and  the  fire  ?  ’  said  Ravenswood. 

‘Not  a  gleed  of  fire,  then,  except  the  bit  kindling  peat,  and 
maybe  a  spunk  in  Mysie’s  cutty-pipe,’  replied  Caleb. 

‘  But  the  flame  ?  ’  demanded  Ravenswood  —  ‘  the  broad  blaze 
which  might  have  been  seen  ten  miles  off' — what  occasioned 
that  ? ’ 

‘  Hout  awa’  !  it ’s  an  auld  saying  and  a  true  — 

Little ’s  the  light 

Will  be  seen  in  a  mirk  night. 

A  wheen  fern  and  horse  litter  that  I  fired  in  the  courtyard, 
after  sending  back  the  loon  of  a  footman ;  and,  to  speak  Heaven’s 
truth,  the  next  time  that  ye  send  or  bring  ony  body  here,  let 
them  be  gentles  allenarly,  without  ony  fremd  servants,  like  that 
chield  Lockhard,  to  be  gledging  and  gleeing  about,  and  looking 
upon  the  wrang  side  of  ane’s  housekeeping,  to  the  discredit  of 
the  family,  and  forcing  ane  to  damn  their  souls  wi’  telling  ae 
lee  after  another  faster  than  I  can  count  them  :  I  wad  rather 
set  fire  to  the  tower  in  gude  earnest,  and  burn  it  ower  my  ain 
head  into  the  bargain,  or  I  see  the  family  dishonoured  in  the  sort.’ 

‘  Upon  my  word,  I  am  infinitely  obliged  by  the  proposal, 
Caleb,’  said  his  master,  scarce  able  to  restrain  his  laughter, 
though  rather  angry  at  the  same  time.  ‘  But  the  gunpowder 
—  is  there  such  a  thing  in  the  tower  ?  The  Marquis  seemed  to 
know  of  it.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


247 


The  pouther,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  — ■  the  Marquis,  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  ’ 
replied  Caleb,  —  ‘  if  your  honour  were  to  brain  me,  I  behooved 
to  laugh,  —  the  Marquis  —  the  pouther  !  Was  it  there  1  Ay,  it 
was  there.  Did  he  ken  o’t  ?  My  certie  !  the  Marquis  kenn’d 
o’t,  and  it  was  the  best  o’  the  game ;  for,  when  I  couldna  pacify 
your  honour  wi’  a’  that  I  could  say,  I  aye  threw  out  a  word 
mair  about  the  gunpouther,  and  garr’d  the  Marquis  tak  the  job 
in  his  ain  hand.’ 

‘But  you  have  not  answered  my  question,’  said  the  Master, 
impatiently ;  ‘  how  came  the  powder  there,  and  where  is  it  now  %  ’ 

‘  Ou,  it  came  there,  and  ye  maun  needs  ken,’  said  Caleb,  look¬ 
ing  mysteriously,  and  whispering,  ‘  when  there  was  like  to  be  a 
wee  hit  rising  here  ;  and  the  Marquis,  and  a’  the  great  lords  of 
the  north,  were  a’  in  it,  and  mony  a  gudely  gun  and  broad¬ 
sword  were  ferried  ower  frae  Dunkirk  forbye  the  pouther.  Awfu’ 
wark  we  had  getting  them  into  the  tower  under  cloud  o’  night, 
for  ye  maun  think  it  wasna  everybody  could  be  trusted  wi’  sic 
kittle  jobs.  But  if  ye  will  gae  hame  to  your  supper,  I  will  tell 
you  a’  about  it  as  ye  gang  clown.’ 

‘And  these  wretched  boys,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘is  it  your 
pleasure  they  are  to  sit  there  all  night,  to  wait  for  the  blowing 
up  of  a  tower  that  is  not  even  on  fire  ?  ’ 

‘  Surely  not,  if  it  is  your  honour’s  pleasure  that  they  suld 
gang  hame ;  although,  ’  added  Caleb,  ‘  it  wadna  do  them  a 
grain’s  damage  :  they  wad  screigh  less  the  next  day,  and  sleep 
the  sounder  at  e’en.  But  just  as  your  honour  likes.’ 

Stepping  accordingly  towards  the  urchins  who  manned  the 
knolls  near  which  they  stood,  Caleb  informed  them,  in  an 
authoritative  tone,  that  their  honours  Lord  Ravenswood  and 

the  Marquis  of  A - had  given  orders  that  the  tower  was  not 

to  blow  up  till  next  day  at  noon.  The  boys  dispersed  upon 
this  comfortable  assurance.  One  or  two,  however,  followed 
Caleb  for  more  information,  particularly  the  urchin  whom  he 
had  cheated  while  officiating  as  turnspit,  who  screamed,  ‘  Mr. 
Balderstone  !  —  Mr.  Balderstone  !  then  the  castle ’s  gane  out  like 
an  auld  wife’s  spunk  ?  ’ 

‘  To  he  sure  it  is,  callant,’  said  the  butler ;  ‘  do  ye  think  the 
castle  of  as  great  a  lord  as  Lord  Ravenswood  wad  continue  in  a 
bleeze,  and  him  standing  looking  on  wi’  his  ain  very  een  ?  It ’s 
aye  right,’  continued  Caleb,  shaking  off  his  ragged  page,  and 
closing  in  to  his  master,  ‘  to  train  up  weans,  as  the  wise  man 
says,  in  the  way  they  should  go,  and,  aboon  a’,  to  teach  them 
respect  to  their  superiors.’ 


248 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


*  But  all  this  while,  Caleb,  you  have  never  told  me  what 
became  of  the  arms  and  the  powder,’  said  Ravenswood. 

‘Why,  as  for  the  arms,’  said  Caleb,  ‘it  was  just  like  the 
bairns’  rhyme  — 

Some  gaed  east  and  some  gaed  west, 

And  some  gaed  to  the  craw’s  nest. 

And  for  the  pouther,  I  e’en  changed  it,  as  occasion  served, 
with  the  skippers  o’  Dutch  luggers  and  French  vessels,  for  gin 
and  brandy,  and  it  served  the  house  mony  a  year  —  a  gude 
swap  too,  between  what  cheereth  the  soul  of  man  and  that  which 
dingeth  it  clean  out  of  his  body ;  forbye,  I  keepit  a  wheen 
pounds  of  it  for  yoursell  when  ye  wanted  to  take  the  pleasure 
o’  shooting  :  whiles,  in  these  latter  days,  I  wad  hardly  hae 
kenn’d  else  whar  to  get  pouther  for  your  pleasure.  And 
now  that  your  anger  is  ower,  sir,  wasna  that  weel  managed  o’ 
me,  and  arena  ye  far  better  sorted  doun  yonder  than  ye  could 
hae  been  in  your  ain  auld  ruins  up-bye  yonder,  as  the  case 
stands  wi’  us  now  ?  the  mair ’s  the  pity !  ’ 

‘I  believe  you  may  be  right,  Caleb;  but,  before  burning 
down  my  castle,  either  in  jest  or  in  earnest,’  said  Ravenswood, 

‘  I  think  I  had  a  right  to  be  in  the  secret.’ 

‘  Fie  for  shame,  your  honour !  ’  replied  Caleb ;  ‘  it  fits  an 
auld  carle  like  me  weel  eneugh  to  tell  lees  for  the  credit  of  the 
family,  but  it  wadna  beseem  the  like  o’  your  honour’s  sell ; 
besides,  young  folk  are  no  judicious  :  they  cannot  make  the 
maist  of  a  bit  figment.  Now  this  fire  —  for  a  fire  it  sail  be,  if  I 
suld  burn  the  auld  stable  to  make  it  mair  feasible  —  this  fire, 
besides  that  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  asking  ony  thing  we  want 
through  the  country,  or  doun  at  the  haven  —  this  fire  will  settle 
mony  things  on  an  honourable  footing  for  the  family’s  credit, 
that  cost  me  telling  twenty  daily  lees  to  a  wheen  idle  chaps 
and  queans,  and,  what ’s  waur,  without  gaining  credence.’ 

‘  That  was  hard  indeed,  Caleb ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  this 
fire  should  help  your  veracity  or  your  credit.’ 

‘  There  it  is  now  !  ’  said  Caleb ;  ‘  wasna  I  saying  that  young 
folk  had  a  green  judgment?  How  suld  it  help  me,  quotha? 
It  will  be  a  creditable  apology  for  the  honour  of  the  family  for 
this  score  of  years  to  come,  if  it  is  weel  guided.  “  Where ’s  the 
family  pictures  ?  ”  says  ae  meddling  body.  “  The  great  fire  at 
Wolf’s  Crag,”  answers  I.  “Where’s  the  family  plate?”  says 
another.  “  The  great  fire,”  says  I ;  “  wha  was  to  think  of  plate, 
when  life  and  limb  were  in  danger  ?  ”  “  Where ’s  the  wardrobe 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


249 


and  the  linens  %  —  where ’s  the  tapestries  and  the  decorements  ? 
—  beds  of  state,  twilts,  pands  and  testers,  napery  and  broidered 
wark  ?  ”  “  The  fire  —  the  fire  —  the  fire.”  Guide  the  fire  weel, 
and  it  will  serve  ye  for  a’  that  ye  suld  have  and  have  not ;  and, 
in  some  sort,  a  gude  excuse  is  better  than  the  things  them¬ 
selves  ;  for  they  maun  crack  and  wear  out,  and  be  consumed  by 
time,  whereas  a  good  offcome,  prudently  and  comfortably  handled, 
may  serve  a  nobleman  and  his  family,  Lord  kens  how  lang  ! ’ 

Ravenswood  was  too  well  acquainted  with  his  butler’s 
pertinacity  and  self-opinion  to  dispute  the  point  with  him  any 
farther.  Leaving  Caleb,  therefore,  to  the  enjoyment  of  his 
own  successful  ingenuity,  he  returned  to  the  hamlet,  where  he 
found  the  Marquis  and  the  good  women  of  the  mansion  under 
some  anxiety  —  the  former  on  account  of  his  absence,  the  others 
for  the  discredit  their  cookery  might  sustain  by  the  delay  of 
the  supper.  All  were  now  at  ease,  and  heard  with  pleasure 
that  the  fire  at  the  castle  had  burned  out  of  itself  without 
reaching  the  vaults,  which  was  the  only  information  that 
Ravenswood  thought  it  proper  to  give  in  public  concerning  the 
event  of  his  butler’s  stratagem. 

They  sat  down  to  an  excellent  supper.  No  invitation  could 
prevail  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Girder,  even  in  their  own  house,  to  sit 
down  at  table  with  guests  of  such  high  quality.  They  remained 
standing  in  the  apartment,  and  acted  the  part  of  respectful  and 
careful  attendants  on  the  company.  Such  were  the  manners 
of  the  time.  The  elder  dame,  confident  through  her  age  and 
connexion  with  the  Ravenswood  family,  was  less  scrupulously 
ceremonious.  She  played  a  mixed  part  betwixt  that  of  the 
hostess  of  an  inn  and  the  mistress  of  a  private  house,  who 
receives  guests  above  her  own  degree.  She  recommended,  and 
even  pressed,  what  she  thought  best,  and  was  herself  easily 
entreated  to  take  a  moderate  share  of  the  good  cheer,  in  order 
to  encourage  her  guests  by  her  own  example.  Often  she  inter¬ 
rupted  herself,  to  express  her  regret  that  ‘  my  lord  did  not  eat ; 
that  the  Master  was  pyking  a  bare  bane;  that,  to  be  sure, 
there  was  naething  there  fit  to  set  before  their  honours ;  that 
Lord  Allan,  rest  his  saul,  used  to  like  a  pouthered  guse,  and 
said  it  was  Latin  for  a  tass  o’  brandy ;  that  the  brandy  came 
frae  France  direct;  for,  for  a’  the  English  laws  and  gaugers, 
the  Wolf’s  Hope  brigs  hadna  forgotten  the  gate  to  Dunkirk.’ 

Here  the  cooper  admonished  his  mother-in-law  with  his 
elbow,  which  procured  him  the  following  special  notice  in  the 
progress  of  her  speech; 


250 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘Ye  needna  be  dunskin  that  gate,  John,’  continued  the  old 
lady ;  ‘  naebody  says  that  ye  ken  whar  the  brandy  comes 
frae ;  and  it  wadna  be  fitting  ye  should,  and  you  the  Queen’s 
cooper;  and  what  signifies  ’t,’  continued  she,  addressing  Lord 
Ravenswood,  ‘to  king,  queen,  or  kaiser  whar  an  auld  wife 
like  me  buys  her  pickle  sneeshin,  or  her  drap  brandy-wine,  to 
haud  her  heart  up  %  ’ 

Having  thus  extricated  herself  from  her  supposed  false  step, 
Dame  Loup-the-Dyke  proceeded,  during  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
to  supply,  with  great  animation,  and  very  little  assistance  from 
her  guests,  the  funds  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  conversa¬ 
tion,  until,  declining  any  further  circulation  of  their  glass,  her 
guests  requested  her  permission  to  retire  to  their  apartments. 

The  Marquis  occupied  the  chamber  of  dais,  which,  in  every 
house  above  the  rank  of  a  mere  cottage,  was  kept  sacred  for 
such  high  occasions  as  the  present.  The  modern  finishing  with 
plaster  was  then  unknown,  and  tapestry  was  confined  to  the 
houses  of  the  nobility  and  superior  gentry.  The  cooper,  there¬ 
fore,  who  was  a  man  of  some  vanity,  as  well  as  some  wealth, 
had  imitated  the  fashion  observed  by  the  inferior  landholders 
and  clergy,  who  usually  ornamented  their  state  apartments 
with  hangings  of  a  sort  of  stamped  leather,  manufactured  in 
the  Netherlands,  garnished  with  trees  and  animals  executed 
in  copper  foil,  and  with  many  a  pithy  sentence  of  morality,  which, 
although  couched  in  Low  Dutch,  were  perhaps  as  much  attended 
to  in  practice  as  if  written  in  broad  Scotch.  The  whole  had 
somewhat  of  a  gloomy  aspect ;  but  the  fire,  composed  of  old 
pitch-barrel  staves,  blazed  merrily  up  the  chimney ;  the  bed 
was  decorated  with  linen  of  most  fresh  and  dazzling  whiteness, 
which  had  never  before  been  used,  and  might,  perhaps,  have 
never  been  used  at  all,  but  for  this  high  occasion.  On  the 
toilette  beside,  stood  an  old-fashioned  mirror,  in  a  fillagree 
frame,  part  of  the  dispersed  finery  of  the  neighbouring  castle. 
It  was  flanked  by  a  long-necked  bottle  of  Florence  wine,  by 
which  stood  a  glass  nearly  as  tall,  resembling  in  shape  that 
which  Teniers  usually  places  in  the  hands  of  his  own  por¬ 
trait,  when  he  paints  himself  as  mingling  in  the  revels  of  a 
country  village.  To  counterbalance  those  foreign  sentinels, 
there  mounted  guard  on  the  other  side  of  the  mirror  two  stout 
warders  of  Scottish  lineage  ;  a  jug,  namely,  of  double  ale,  which 
held  a  Scotch  pint,  and  a  quaigh,  or  bicker,  of  ivory  and  ebony, 
hooped  with  silver,  the  work  of  John  Girder’s  own  hands,  and 
the  pride  of  his  heart.  Besides  these  preparations  against 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


251 


thirst,  there  was  a  goodly  diet-loaf,  or  sweet  cake ;  so  that, 
with  such  auxiliaries,  the  apartment  seemed  victualled  against 
'a  siege  of  two  or  three  days. 

It  only  remains  to  say,  that  the  Marquis’s  valet  was  in 
attendance,  displaying  his  master’s  brocaded  nightgown,  and 
richly  embroidered  velvet  cap,  lined  and  faced  with  Brussels 
lace,  upon  a  huge  leathern  easy-chair,  wheeled  round  so  as  to 
have  the  full  advantage  of  the  comfortable  fire  which  we  have 
already  mentioned.  We  therefore  commit  that  eminent  person 
to  his  night’s  repose,  trusting  he  profited  by  the  ample  prep¬ 
arations  made  for  his  accommodation  —  preparations  which 
we  have  mentioned  in  detail,  as  illustrative  of  ancient  Scottish 
manners. 

It  is  not  necessary  we  should  be  equally  minute  in  describ¬ 
ing  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  which 
was  that  usually  occupied  by  the  goodman  and  goodwife  them¬ 
selves.  It  was  comfortably  hung  with  a  sort  of  warm-coloured 
worsted,  manufactured  in  Scotland,  approaching  in  texture  to 
what  is  now  called  shalloon.  A  staring  picture  of  John  Girder 
himself  ornamented  this  domitory,  painted  by  a  starving 
Frenchman,  who  had,  God  knows  how  or  why,  strolled  over 
from  Flushing  or  Dunkirk  to  Wolf’s  Hope  in  a  smuggling 
dogger.  The  features  were,  indeed,  those  of  the  stubborn, 
opinionative,  yet  sensible  artisan,  but  Monsieur  had  contrived 
to  throw  a  French  grace  into  the  look  and  manner,  so  utterly 
inconsistent  with  the  dogged  gravity  of  the  original,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  look  at  it  without  laughing.  John  and  his 
family,  however,  piqued  themselves  not  a  little  upon  this  picture, 
and  were  proportionably  censured  by  the  neighbourhood,  who 
pronounced  that  the  cooper,  in  sitting  for  the  same,  and  yet 
more  in  presuming  to  hang  it  up  in  his  bedchamber,  had  ex¬ 
ceeded  his  privilege  as  the  richest  man  of  the  village ;  at  once 
stept  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  own  rank,  and  encroached  upon 
those  of  the  superior  orders  ;  and,  in  fine,  had  been  guilty  of  a 
very  overweening  act  of  vanity  and  presumption.  Respect  for 
the  memory  of  my  deceased  friend,  Mr.  Richard  Tinto,  has 
obliged  me  to  treat  this  matter  at  some  length ;  but  I  spare 
the  reader  his  prolix  though  curious  observations,  as  well  upon 
the  character  of  the  French  school  as  upon  the  state  of  paint¬ 
ing  in  Scotland  at  the  beginning  of  the  18th  century. 

The  other  preparations  of  the  Master’s  sleeping  apartment 
were  similar  to  those  in  the  chamber  of  dais. 

At  the  usual  early  hour  of  that  period,  the  Marquis  of 


252 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


A -  and  his  kinsman  prepared  to  resume  their  journey. 

This  could  not  be  done  without  an  ample  breakfast,  in  which 
cold  meat  and  hot  meat,  and  oatmeal  flummery,  wine  and 
spirits,  and  milk  varied  by  every  possible  mode  of  preparation, 
evinced  the  same  desire  to  do  honour  to  their  guests  which  had 
been  shown  by  the  hospitable  owners  of  the  mansion  upon  the 
evening  before.  All  the  bustle  of  preparation  for  departure 
now  resounded  through  Wolfs  Hope.  There  was  paying  of 
bills  and  shaking  of  hands,  and  saddling  of  horses,  and  harness¬ 
ing  of  carriages,  and  distributing  of  drink-money.  The  Marquis 
left  a  broad  piece  for  the  gratification  of  John  Girder’s  house¬ 
hold,  which  he,  the  said  John,  was  for  some  time  disposed  to 
convert  to  his  own  use ;  Dingwall,  the  writer,  assuring  him  he 
was  justified  in  so  doing,  seeing  he  was  the  disburser  of  those 
expenses  which  were  the  occasion  of  the  gratification.  But, 
notwithstanding  this  legal  authority,  John  could  not  find  in 
his  heart  to  dim  the  splendour  of  his  late  hospitality  by  pocket¬ 
ing  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  gratuity.  He  only  assured  his 
menials  he  would  consider  them  as  a  damned  ungrateful  pack 
if  they  bought  a  gill  of  brandy  elsewhere  than  out  of  his  own 
stores ;  and  as  the  drink-money  was  likely  to  go  to  its  legiti¬ 
mate  use,  he  comforted  himself  that,  in  this  manner,  the  Mar¬ 
quis’s  donative  would,  without  any  impeachment  of  credit  and 
character,  come  ultimately  into  his  own  exclusive  possession. 

While  arrangements  were  making  for  departure,  Ravens- 
wood  made  blithe  the  heart  of  his  ancient  butler  by  informing 
him,  cautiously  however  (for  he  knew  Caleb’s  warmth  of  imagi¬ 
nation),  of  the  probable  change  which  was  about  to  take  place 
in  his  fortunes.  He  deposited  with  Balderstone,  at  the  same 
time,  the  greater  part  of  his  slender  funds,  with  an  assurance, 
which  he  was  obliged  to  reiterate  more  than  once,  that  he  him¬ 
self  had  sufficient  supplies  in  certain  prospect.  He  therefore 
enjoined  Caleb,  as  he  valued  his  favour,  to  desist  from  all 
farther  manoeuvres  against  the  inhabitants  of  Wolfs  Hope,  their 
cellars,  poultry-yards,  and  substance  whatsoever.  In  this  pro¬ 
hibition,  the  old  domestic  acquiesced  more  readily  than  his 
master  expected. 

‘It  was  doubtless,’  he  said,  ‘a  shame,  a  discredit,  and  a  sin 
to  harry  the  puir  creatures,  when  the  family  were  in  circum¬ 
stances  to  live  honourably  on  their  ain  means ;  and  there  might 
be  wisdom,’  he  added,  ‘in  giving  them  a  while’s  breathing- time 
at  any  rate,  that  they  might  be  the  more  readily  brought  for  ¬ 
ward  upon  his  honour’s  future  occasions.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


253 


This  matter  being  settled,  and  having  taken  an  affectionate 
farewell  of  his  old  domestic,  the  Master  rejoined  his  noble 
relative,  who  was  now  ready  to  enter  his  carriage.  The  two 
landladies,  old  and  young,  having  received  in  all  kindly  greet¬ 
ing  a  kiss  from  each  of  their  noble  guests,  stood  simpering  at 
the  door  of  their  house,  as  the  coach  and  six,  followed  by  its 
train  of  clattering  horsemen,  thundered  out  of  the  village. 
John  Girder  also  stood  upon  his  threshold,  now  looking  at  his 
honoured  right  hand,  which  had  been  so  lately  shaken  by  a 
marquis  and  a  lord,  and  now  giving  a  glance  into  the  interior 
of  his  mansion,  which  manifested  all  the  disarray  of  the  late 
revel,  as  if  balancing  the  distinction  which  he  had  attained 
with  the  expenses  of  the  entertainment. 

At  length  he  opened  his  oracular  jaws.  ‘Let  every  man  and 
woman  here  set  about  their  ain  business,  as  if  there  was  nae 
sic  thing  as  marquis  or  master,  duke  or  drake,  laird  or  lord,  in 
this  world.  Let  the  house  be  redd  up,  the  broken  meat  set  bye, 
and  if  there  is  ony  thing  totally  uneatable,  let  it  be  gien  to  the 
puir  folk ;  and,  gudemother  and  wife,  I  hae  just  ae  thing  to 
entreat  ye,  that  ye  will  never  speak  to  me  a  single  word,  good 
or  bad,  anent  a’  this  nonsense  wark,  but  keep  a’  your  cracks 
about  it  to  yoursells  and  your  kimmers,  for  my  head  is  weel- 
nigh  dung  donnart  wi’  it  already.’ 

As  John’s  authority  was  tolerably  absolute,  all  departed  to 
their  usual  occupations,  leaving  him  to  build  castles  in  the  air, 
if  he  had  a  mind,  upon  the  court  favour  which  he  had  acquired 
by  the  expenditure  of  his  worldly  substance. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forelock, 

And  if  she  escapes  my  grasp,  the  fault  is  mine; 

He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversity 

Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favouring  breezes. 

Old  Play. 

OUR  travellers  reached  Edinburgh  without  any  farther 
adventure,  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  as  had  been 
previously  settled,  took  up  his  abode  with  his  noble 

friend. 

In  the  meantime,  the  political  crisis  which  had  been  ex¬ 
pected  took  place,  and  the  Tory  party  obtained  in  the  Scottish, 
as  in  the  English,  councils  of  Queen  Anne  a  short-lived  ascend¬ 
ency,  of  which  it  is  not  our  business  to  trace  either  the  cause 
or  consequences.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  affected  the  different 
political  parties  according  to  the  nature  of  their  principles.  In 
England,  many  of  the  High  Church  party,  with  Harley,  after¬ 
wards  Earl  of  Oxford,  at  their  head,  affected  to  separate  their 
principles  from  those  of  the  Jacobites,  and,  on  that  account, 
obtained  the  denomination  of  Whimsicals.  The  Scottish  High 
Church  party,  on  the  contrary,  or,  as  they  termed  themselves, 
the  Cavaliers,  were  more  consistent,  if  not  so  prudent,  in  their 
politics,  and  viewed  all  the  changes  now  made  as  preparatory 
to  calling  to  the  throne,  upon  the  queen’s  demise,  her  brother, 
the  Chevalier  de  St.  George.  Those  who  had  suffered  in  his 
service  now  entertained  the  most  unreasonable  hopes,  not  only 
of  indemnification,  but  of  vengeance  upon  their  political  adver¬ 
saries  ;  while  families  attached  to  the  Whig  interest  saw  nothing 
before  them  but  a  reneival  of  the  hardships  they  had  undergone 
during  the  reigns  of  Charles  the  Second  and  his  brother,  and  a 
retaliation  of  the  confiscation  which  had  been  inflicted  upon  the 
Jacobites  during  that  of  King  William. 

But  the  most  alarmed  at  the  change  of  system  was  that 
prudential  set  of  persons,  some  of  whom  are  found  in  all  govern- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


255 


ments,  but  who  abound  in  a  provincial  administration  like  that 
of  Scotland  during  the  period,  and  who  are  what  Cromwell 
called  waiters  upon  Providence,  or,  in  other  words,  uniform 
adherents  to  the  party  who  are  uppermost.  Many  of  these 

hastened  to  read  their  recantation  to  the  Marquis  of  A- - ; 

and,  as  it  was  easily  seen  that  he  took  a  deep  interest  in  the 
affairs  of  his  kinsman,  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood,  they  were 
the  first  to  suggest  measures  for  retrieving  at  least  a  part  of 
his  property,  and  for  restoring  him  in  blood  against  his  father’s 
attainder. 

Old  Lord  Turntippet  professed  to  be  one  of  the  most  anxious 
for  the  success  of  these  measures ;  for  ‘  it  grieved  him  to  the 
very  saul,’  he  said,  ‘to  see  so  brave  a  young  gentleman,  of 
sic  auld  and  undoubted  nobility,  and,  what  was  mair  than  a’ 

that,  a  bluid  relation  of  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  the  man  whom,’ 

he  swore,  ‘he  honoured  most  upon  the  face  of  the  yearth, 
brought  to  so  severe  a  pass.  For  his  ain  puir  peculiar,’  as  he 
said,  ‘  and  to  contribute  something  to  the  rehabilitation  of  sae 
auld  ane  house,’  the  said  Turntippit  sent  in  three  family  pic¬ 
tures  lacking  the  frames,  and  six  high-backed  chairs,  with 
worked  Turkey  cushions,  having  the  crest  of  Ravenswood 
broidered  thereon,  without  charging  a  penny  either  of  the  prin¬ 
cipal  or  interest  they  had  cost  him,  when  he  bought  them, 
sixteen  years  before,  at  a  roup  of  the  furniture  of  Lord  Ravens- 
wood’s  lodgings  in  the  Canongate. 

Much  more  to  Lord  Turntippet’s  dismay  than  to  his  surprise, 
although  he  affected  to  feel  more  of  the  latter  than  the  former, 
the  Marquis  received  his  gift  very  drily,  and  observed,  that  his 
lordship’s  restitution,  if  he  expected  it  to  be  received  by  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  and  his  friends,  must  comprehend  a  pretty 
large  farm,  which,  having  been  mortgaged  to  Turntippet  for  a 
very  inadequate  sum,  he  had  contrived,  during  the  confusion  of 
the  family  affairs,  and  by  means  well  understood  by  the  lawyers 
of  that  period,  to  acquire  to  himself  in  absolute  property. 

The  old  time-serving  lord  winced  excessively  under  this  req¬ 
uisition,  protesting  to  God,  that  he  saw  no  occasion  the  lad 
could  have  for  the  instant  possession  of  the  land,  seeing  he 
would  doubtless  now  recover  the  bulk  of  his  estate  from  Sir 
William  Ashton,  to  which  he  was  ready  to  contribute  by  every 
means  in  his  power,  as  was  j  ust  and  reasonable ;  and  finally 
declaring,  that  he  was  willing  to  settle  the  land  on  the  young 
gentleman  after  his  own  natural  demise. 

But  all  these  excuses  availed  nothing,  and  he  was  compelled 


&56 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


to  disgorge  the  property,  on  receiving  back  the  sum  for  which 
it  had  been  mortgaged.  Having  no  other  means  of  making 
peace  with  the  higher  powers,  he  returned  home  sorrowful  and 
malcontent,  complaining  to  his  confidants,  ‘  That  every  muta¬ 
tion  or  change  in  the  state  had  hitherto  been  productive  of 
some  sma’  advantage  to  him  in  his  ain  quiet  affairs ;  but  that 
the  present  had  —  pize  upon  it !  —  cost  him  one  of  the  best  pen- 
feathers  o’  his  wing/ 

Similar  measures  were  threatened  against  others  who  had 
profited  by  the  wreck  of  the  fortune  of  Ravenswood ;  and  Sir 
William  Ashton,  in  particular,  was  menaced  with  an  appeal  to 
the  House  of  Peers,  against  the  judicial  sentences,  under  which 
he  held  the  castle  and  barony  of  Ravenswood.  With  him,  how¬ 
ever,  the  Master,  as  well  for  Lucy’s  sake  as  on  account  of  the 
hospitality  he  had  received  from  him,  felt  himself  under  the  ne¬ 
cessity  of  proceeding  with  great  candour.  He  wTote  to  the  late 
Lord  Keeper,  for  he  no  longer  held  that  office,  stating  frankly 
the  engagement  which  existed  between  him  and  Miss  Ashton, 
requesting  his  permission  for  their  union,  and  assuring  him  of 
his  willingness  to  put  the  settlement  of  all  matters  between 
them  upon  such  a  footing  as  Sir  William  himself  should  think 
favourable. 

The  same  messenger  was  charged  with  a  letter  to  Lady 
Ashton,  deprecating  any  cause  of  displeasure  which  the  Master 
might  unintentionally  have  given  her,  enlarging  upon  his  at¬ 
tachment  to  Miss  Ashton,  and  the  length  to  which  it  had  pro¬ 
ceeded,  and  conjuring  the  lady,  as  a  Douglas  in  nature  as  well 
as  in  name,  generously  to  forget  ancient  prejudices  and  misun¬ 
derstandings,  and  to  believe  that  the  family  had  acquired 
a  friend,  and  she  herself  a  respectful  and  attached  humble 
servant,  in  him  who  subscribed  himself  ‘Edgar,  Master  of 
Ravenswood/ 

A  third  letter  Ravenswood  addressed  to  Lucy,  and  the  mes¬ 
senger  was  instructed  to  find  some  secret  and  secure  means  of 
delivering  it  into  her  own  hands.  It  contained  the  strongest 
protestations  of  continued  affection,  and  dwelt  upon  the  ap¬ 
proaching  change  of  the  writer’s  fortunes,  as  chiefly  valuable  by 
tending  to  remove  the  impediments  to  their  union.  He  related 
the  steps  he  had  taken  to  overcome  the  prejudices  of  her  par¬ 
ents,  and  especially  of  her  mother,  and  expressed  his  hopes  they 
might  prove  effectual.  If  not,  he  still  trusted  that  his  ab¬ 
sence  from  Scotland  upon  an  important  and  honourable  mission 
might  give  time  for  prejudices  to  die  away;  while  he  hoped  and 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


257 


trusted  Miss  Ashton’s  constancy,  on  which  he  had  the  most 
implicit  reliance,  would  baffle  any  effort  that  might  be  used  to 
divert  her  attachment.  Much  more  there  was,  which,  however 
interesting  to  the  lovers  themselves,  would  afford  the  reader 
neither  interest  nor  information.  To  each  of  these  three  letters 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood  received  an  answer,  but  by  different 
means  of  conveyance,  and  certainly  couched  in  very  different 
styles. 

Lady  Ashton  answered  his  letter  by  his  own  messenger,  who 
was  not  allowed  to  remain  at  Ravenswood  a  moment  longer 
than  she  was  engaged  in  penning  these  lines.  ‘  For  the  hand 
of  Mr.  Ravenswood  of  Wolfs  Crag  —  These  : 

‘  Sir,  unknown, 

‘  I  have  received  a  letter,  signed  “  Edgar,  Master  of  Ravens¬ 
wood,”  concerning  the  writer  whereof  I  am  uncertain,  seeing  that 
the  honours  of  such  a  family  were  forfeited  for  high  treason  in 
the  person  of  Allan,  late  Lord  Ravenswood.  Sir,  if  you  shall 
happen  to  be  the  person  so  subscribing  yourself,  you  will  please 
to  know,  that  I  claim  the  full  interest  of  a  parent  in  Miss  Lucy 
Ashton,  which  I  have  disposed  of  irrevocably  in  behalf  of  a 
worthy  person.  And,  sir,  were  this  otherwise,  I  would  not 
listen  to  a  proposal  from  you,  or  any  of  your  house,  seeing 
their  hand  has  been  uniformly  held  up  against  the  freedom  of 
the  subject  and  the  immunities  of  God’s  kirk.  Sir,  it  is  not  a 
flightering  blink  of  prosperity  which  can  change  my  constant 
opinion  in  this  regard,  seeing  it  has  been  my  lot  before  now, 
like  holy  David,  to  see  the  wicked  great  in  power  and  flourish¬ 
ing  like  a  green  bay-tree ;  nevertheless  I  passed,  and  they  were 
not,  and  the  place  thereof  knew  them  no  more.  Wishing  you 
to  lay  these  things  to  your  heart  for  your  own  sake,  so  far  as 
they  may  concern  you,  I  pray  you  to  take  no  farther  notice  of 
her  who  desires  to  remain  your  unknown  servant, 

‘  Margaret  Douglas, 

‘  otherwise  Ashton.’ 

About  two  days  after  he  had  received  this  very  unsatisfactory 
epistle,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  while  walking  up  the  High 
Street  of  Edinburgh,  was  jostled  by  a  person,  in  whom,  as  the 
man  pulled  off  his  hat  to  make  an  apology,  he  recognised  Lock- 
hard,  the  confidential  domestic  of  Sir  William  Ashton.  The 
man  bowed,  slipt  a  letter  into  his  hand,  and  disappeared.  The 
packet  contained  four  close-written  folios,  from  which,  however, 

vol.  vm  — 17 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


£58 

as  is  sometimes  incident  to  the  compositions  of  great  lawyers, 
little  could  be  extracted,  excepting  that  the  writer  felt  himself 
in  a  very  puzzling  predicament. 

Sir  William  spoke  at  length  of  his  high  value  and  regard  for 
his  dear  young  friend,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  and  of  his 

very  extreme  high  value  and  regard  for  the  Marquis  of  A - , 

his  very  dear  old  friend ;  he  trusted  that  any  measures  that 
they  might  adopt,  in  which  he  was  concerned,  would  be  carried 
on  with  due  regard  to  the  sanctity  of  decreets  and  judgments 
obtained  in  foro  contentioso  ;  protesting,  before  men  and  angels, 
that  if  the  law  of  Scotland,  as  declared  in  her  supreme  courts, 
were  to  undergo  a  reversal  in  the  English  House  of  Lords,  the 
evils  which  would  thence  arise  to  the  public  would  inflict  a 
greater  wound  upon  his  heart  than  any  loss  he  might  himself 
sustain  by  such  irregular  proceedings.  He  flourished  much  on 
generosity  and  forgiveness  of  mutual  injuries,  and  hinted  at  the 
mutability  of  human  affairs,  always  favourite  topics  with  the 
weaker  party  in  politics.  He  pathetically  lamented,  and  gently 
censured,  the  haste  which  had  been  used  in  depriving  him  of 
his  situation  of  Lord  Keeper,1  which  his  experience  had  enabled 
him  to  fill  with  some  advantage  to  the  public,  without  so  much 
as  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  explaining  how  far  his  own 
views  of  general  politics  might  essentially  differ  from  those  now 

in  power.  He  was  convinced  the  Marquis  of  A -  had  as 

sincere  intentions  toward  the  public  as  himself  or  any  man  ; 
and  if,  upon  a  conference,  they  could  have  agreed  upon  the 
measures  by  which  it  was  to  be  pursued,  his  experience  and 
his  interest  should  have  gone  to  support  the  present  administra¬ 
tion.  Upon  the  engagement  betwixt  Ravenswood  and  his 
daughter,  he  spoke  in  a  dry  and  confused  manner.  He  regretted 
so  premature  a  step  as  the  engagement  of  the  young  people 
should  have  been  taken,  and  conjured  the  Master  to  remember 
he  had  never  given  any  encouragement  thereunto  ;  and  observed 
that,  as  a  transaction  inter  minores,  and  without  concurrence  of 
his  daughter’s  natural  curators,  the  engagement  was  inept,  and 
void  in  law.  This  precipitate  measure,  he  added,  had  produced 
a  very  bad  effect  upon  Lady  Ashton’s  mind,  which  it  was  im¬ 
possible  at  present  to  remove.  Her  son,  Colonel  Douglas 
Ashton,  had  embraced  her  prejudices  in  the  fullest  extent,  and 
it  was  impossible  for  Sir  William  to  adopt  a  course  disagreeable 
to  them  without  a  fatal  and  irreconcilable  breach  in  his  family  ; 
which  was  not  at  present  to  he  thought  of.  Time,  the  great 
physician,  he  hoped,  would  mend  all. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


259 


In  a  postscript,  Sir  William  said  something  more  explicitly, 
which  seemed  to  intimate  that,  rather  than  the  law  of  Scotland 
should  sustain  a  severe  wound  through  his  sides,  by  a  reversal 
of  the  judgment  of  her  supreme  courts,  in  the  case  of  the 
barony  of  Ravenswood,  through  the  intervention  of  what, 
with  all  submission,  he  must  term  a  foreign  court  of  appeal, 
he  himself  would  extrajudicially  consent  to  considerable  sacri¬ 
fices. 

From  Lucy  Ashton,  by  some  unknown  conveyance,  the 
Master  received  the  following  lines  :  —  ‘I  received  yours,  but 
it  was  at  the  utmost  risk ;  do  not  attempt  to  write  again  till 
better  times.  I  am  sore  beset,  but  I  will  be  true  to  my  word, 
while  the  exercise  of  my  reason  is  vouchsafed  to  me.  That 
you  are  happy  and  prosperous  is  some  consolation,  and  my 
situation  requires  it  all.’  The  note  was  signed  ‘L.  A.’ 

This  letter  filled  Ravenswood  with  the  most  lively  alarm. 
He  made  many  attempts,  notwithstanding  her  prohibition,  to 
convey  letters  to  Miss  Ashton,  and  even  to  obtain  an  interview ; 
but  his  plans  were  frustrated,  and  he  had  only  the  mortification 
to  learn  that  anxious  and  effectual  precautions  had  been  taken 
to  prevent  the  possibility  of  their  correspondence.  The  Master 
was  the  more  distressed  by  these  circumstances,  as  it  became 
impossible  to  delay  his  departure  from  Scotland,  upon  the  im¬ 
portant  mission  which  had  been  confided  to  him.  Before  his 
departure,  he  put  Sir  William  Ashton’s  letter  into  the  hands 

of  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  who  observed  with  a  smile,  that  Sir 

William’s  day  of  grace  was  past,  and  that  he  had  now  to  learn 
which  side  of  the  hedge  the  sun  had  got  to.  It  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  Ravenswood  extorted  from  the  Marquis 
a  promise  that  he  would  compromise  the  proceedings  in  Par¬ 
liament,  providing  Sir  William  should  be  disposed  to  acquiesce 
in  a  union  between  him  and  Lucy  Ashton. 

‘  I  would  hardly,’  said  the  Marquis,  ‘  consent  to  your  throwing 
away  your  birthright  in  this  manner,  were  I  not  perfectly 
confident  that  Lady  Ashton,  or  Lady  Douglas,  or  whatever  she 
calls  herself,  will,  as  Scotchmen  say,  keep  her  threep ;  and  that 
her  husband  dares  not  contradict  her.’ 

*  But  yet,’  said  the  Master,  ‘  I  trust  your  lordship  will  con¬ 
sider  my  engagement  as  sacred.’ 

‘Believe  my  word  of  honour,’  said  the  Marquis,  ‘I  would  be 
a  friend  even  to  your  follies ;  and  having  thus  told  you  my 
opinion,  I  will  endeavour,  as  occasion  offers,  to  serve  you 
according  to  your  own.’ 


260 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


The  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  but  thank  his 
kinsman  and  patron,  and  leave  him  full  power  to  act 
affairs.  He  departed  from  Scotland  upon  his  mission, 
was  supposed,  might  detain  him  upon  the  continent 
months. 


generous 
in  all  his 
which,  it 
for  some 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  wooed  ? 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won  ? 

I  ’ll  have  her. 

Richard  III. 


TWELVE  months  had  passed  away  since  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood’s  departure  for  the  continent,  and,  although 
his  return  to  Scotland  had  been  expected  in  a  much 
shorter  space,  yet  the  affairs  of  his  mission,  or,  according  to  a 
prevailing  report,  others  of  a  nature  personal  to  himself,  still 
detained  him  abroad.  In  the  meantime,  the  altered  state  of 
affairs  in  Sir  William  Ashton’s  family  may  be  gathered  from 
the  following  conversation  which  took  place  betwixt  Bucklaw 
and  his  confidential  bottle  companion  and  dependant,  the  noted 
Captain  Craigengelt. 

They  were  seated  on  either  side  of  the  huge  sepulchral- 
looking  freestone  chimney  in  the  low  hall  at  Girnington.  A 
wood  fire  blazed  merrily  in  the  grate;  a  round  oaken  table, 
placed  between  them,  supported  a  stoup  of  excellent  claret,  two 
rummer  glasses,  and  other  good  cheer ;  and  yet,  with  all  these 
appliances  and  means  to  boot,  the  countenance  of  the  patron 
was  dubious,  doubtful,  and  unsatisfied,  while  the  invention  of 
his  dependant  was  taxed  to  the  utmost  to  parry  what  he  most 
dreaded,  a  fit,  as  he  called  it,  of  the  sullens,  on  the  part  of  his 
protector.  After  a  long  pause,  only  interrupted  by  the  devil’s 
tattoo,  which  Bucklaw  kept  beating  against  the  hearth  with  the 
toe  of  his  boot,  Craigengelt  at  last  ventured  to  break  silence. 

‘  May  I  be  double  distanced,’  said  he,  ‘  if  ever  I  saw  a  man  in  my 
life  have  less  the  air  of  a  bridegroom  !  Cut  me  out  of  feather,  if 
you  have  not  more  the  look  of  a  man  condemned  to  be  hanged  !  ’ 
‘  My  kind  thanks  for  the  compliment,’  replied  Bucklaw  ;  ‘but 
I  suppose  you  think  upon  the  predicament  in  which  you  your¬ 
self  are  most  likely  to  be  placed ;  and  pray,  Captain  Craigen¬ 
gelt,  if  it  please  your  worship,  why  should  I  look  merry,  when 
I ’m  sad,  and  devilish  sad  too  ?  ’ 


262 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


‘And  that’s  what  vexes  me,’  said  Craingengelt.  ‘Here  is 
this  match,  the  best  in  the  whole  country,  and  which  you  were 
so  anxious  about,  is  on  the  point  of  being  concluded,  and  you 
are  as  sulky  as  a  bear  that  has  lost  its  whelps.’ 

‘  I  do  not  know,’  answered  the  Laird,  doggedly,  ‘  whether  I 
should  conclude  it  or  not,  if  it  was  not  that  I  am  too  far 
forwards  to  leap  back.’ 

‘  Leap  hack  !  ’  exclaimed  Craigengelt,  with  a  well-assumed  air 
of  astonishment,  ‘  that  would  be  playing  the  back-game  with  a 
witness  !  Leap  back  !  Why,  is  not  the  girl’s  fortune - ’ 

‘The  young  lady’s,  if  you  please,’  said  Hayston,  interrupting 
him. 

‘Well  —  well,  no  disrespect  meant.  Will  Miss  Ashton’s 
tocher  not  weigh  against  any  in  Lothian  ?  ’ 

‘  Granted,’  answered  Bucklaw ;  ‘  but  I  care  not  a  penny  for 
her  tocher;  I  have  enough  of  my  own.’ 

‘  And  the  mother,  that  loves  you  like  her  own  child  ?  ’ 

‘  Better  than  some  of  her  children,  I  believe,’  said  Bucklaw, 
‘or  there  would  be  little  love  wared  on  the  matter.’ 

‘And  Colonel  Shoeto  Douglas  Ashton,  who  desires  the 
marriage  above  all  earthly  things  ?  ’ 

‘  Because,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘  he  expects  to  carry  the  county 
of - through  my  interest.  ’ 

‘  And  the  father,  who  is  as  keen  to  see  the  match  concluded 
as  ever  I  have  been  to  win  a  main  ?  ’ 

‘Ay,’  said  Bucklaw,  in  the  same  disparaging  manner,  ‘  it  lies 
with  Sir  William’s  policy  to  secure  the  next  best  match,  since 
he  cannot  barter  his  child  to  save  the  great  Ravenswood  estate, 
which  the  English  House  of  Lords  are  about  to  wrench  out  of 
his  clutches.’ 

‘  What  say  you  to  the  young  lady  herself  1  ’  said  Craigengelt ; 
‘  the  finest  young  woman  in  all  Scotland,  one  that  you  used  to 
be  so  fond  of  when  she  was  cross,  and  now  she  consents  to 
have  you,  and  gives  up  her  engagement  with  Ravenswood, 
you  are  for  jibbing.  I  must  say,  the  devil ’s  in  ye,  when 
ye  neither  know  what  you  would  have  nor  what  you  would 
want.’ 

‘I’ll  tell  you  my  meaning  in  a  word,’  answered  Bucklaw, 
getting  up  and  walking  through  the  room ;  ‘  I  want  to  know 
what  the  devil  is  the  cause  of  Miss  Ashton’s  changing  her  mind 
so  suddenly  ?  ’ 

‘  And  what  need  you  care,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘  since  the  change 
is  in  your  favour  ?  ’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


263 


‘I  ’ll  tell  you  what  it  is,’  returned  his  patron,  ‘I  never  knew 
much  of  that  sort  of  fine  ladies,  and  I  believe  they  may  be  as 
capricious  as  the  devil ;  but  there  is  something  in  Miss  Ashton’s 
change  a  devilish  deal  too  sudden  and  too  serious  for  a  mere 
Risk  of  her  own.  I  ’ll  be  bound,  Lady  Ashton  understands 
every  machine  for  breaking  in  the  human  mind,  and  there  are 
as  many  as  there  are  cannon-bits,  martingales,  and  cavessons 
for  young  colts.’ 

‘And  if  that  were  not  the  case,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘how  the 
devil  should  we  ever  get  them  into  training  at  all  ?  ’ 

‘And  that’s  true  too,’  said  Bucklaw,  suspending  his  march 
through  the  dining-room,  and  leaning  upon  the  back  of  a  chair. 

‘  And  besides,  here ’s  Havens  wood  in  the  way  still ;  do  you 
think  he  ’ll  give  up  Lucy’s  engagement  1  ’ 

‘  To  be  sure  he  will,  ’  answered  Craigengelt ;  ‘  what  good  can 
it  do  him  to  refuse,  since  he  wishes  to  marry  another  woman 
and  she  another  man  ?  ’ 

‘And  you  believe  seriously,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘that  he  is  going 
to  marry  the  foreign  lady  we  heard  of  ?  ’ 

‘You  heard  yourself,’  answered  Craigengelt,  ‘what  Captain 
Westenho  said  about  it,  and  the  great  preparation  made  for 
their  blithesome  bridal.’ 

‘Captain  Westenho,’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘has  rather  too  much 
of  your  own  cast  about  him,  Craigie,  to  make  what  Sir  William 
would  call  a  “famous  witness.”  He  drinks  deep,  plays  deep, 
swears  deep,  and  I  suspect  can  lie  and  cheat  a  little  into  the 
bargain;  useful  qualities,  Craigie,  if  kept  in  their  proper 
sphere,  but  which  have  a  little  too  much  of  the  freebooter  to 
make  a  figure  in  a  court  of  evidence.’ 

‘Well,  then,’  said  Craigengelt,  ‘will  you  believe  Colonel 

Douglas  Ashton,  who  heard  the  Marquis  of  A - say  in  a 

public  circle,  but  not  aware  that  he  was  within  ear-shot,  that 
his  kinsman  had  made  a  better  arrangement  for  himself  than 
to  give  his  father’s  land  for  the  pale-cheeked  daughter  of  a 
broken-down  fanatic,  and  that  Bucklaw  was  welcome  to  the 
wearing  of  Ravenswood’s  shaughled  shoes.’ 

‘  Did  he  say  so,  by  heavens !  ’  cried  Bucklaw,  breaking  out 
into  one  of  those  uncontrollable  fits  of  passion  to  which  he  was 
constitutionally  subject;  ‘if  I  had  heard  him,  I  would  have 
torn  the  tongue  out  of  his  throat  before  all  his  pets  and 
minions,  and  Highland  bullies  into  the  bargain.  Why  did  not 
Ashton  run  him  through  the  body  1  ’ 

‘Capot  me  if  I  know,’  said  the  Captain.  ‘He  deserved  it 


264 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


sure  enough ;  but  he  is  an  old  man,  and  a  minister  of  state,  and 
there  would  be  more  risk  than  credit  in  meddling  with  him. 
You  had  more  need  to  think  of  making  up  to  Miss  Lucy  Ashton 
the  disgrace  that ’s  like  to  fall  upon  her  than  of  interfering  with 
a  man  too  old  to  fight,  and  on  too  high  a  stool  for  your  hand 
to  reach  him/ 

‘It  shall  reach  him,  though,  one  day,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘and 
his  kinsman  Ravenswood  to  boot.  In  the  meantime,  I  ’ll  take 
care  Miss  Ashton  receives  no  discredit  for  the  slight  they  have 
put  upon  her.  It ’s  an  awkward  job,  however,  and  I  wish  it 
were  ended ;  I  scarce  know  how  to  talk  to  her,  —  but  fill  a 
bumper,  Craigie,  and  we  ’ll  drink  her  health.  It  grows  late,  and 
a  night-cowl  of  good  claret  is  worth  all  the  considering-caps  in 
Europe.’ 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


It  was  the  copy  of  our  conference. 

In  bed  she  slept  not,  for  my  urging  it  ; 

At  board  she  fed  not,  for  my  urging  it ; 

Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 

In  company  I  often  glanced  at  it. 

Comedy  of  Errors. 

THE  next  morning  saw  Bucklaw  and  his  faithful  Achates, 
Craigengelt,  at  Kavenswood  Castle.  They  were  most 
courteously  received  by  the  knight  and  his  lady,  as  well 
as  by  their  son  and  heir,  Colonel  Ashton.  After  a  good  deal  of 
stammering  and  blushing  —  for  Bucklaw,  notwithstanding  his 
audacity  in  other  matters,  had  all  the  sheepish  bashfulness 
common  to  those  who  have  lived  little  in  respectable  society  — 
he  contrived  at  length  to  explain  his  wish  to  be  admitted  to  a 
conference  with  Miss  Ashton  upon  the  subject  of  their  approach¬ 
ing  union.  Sir  William  and  his  son  looked  at  Lady  Ashton, 
who  replied  with  the  greatest  composure,  ‘  That  Lucy  would 
wait  upon  Mr.  Hayston  directly.  I  hope,’  she  added  with  a 
smile,  ‘  that  as  Lucy  is  very  young,  and  has  been  lately  tre¬ 
panned  into  an  engagement  of  which  she  is  now  heartily  ashamed, 
our  dear  Bucklaw  will  excuse  her  wish  that  I  should  be  present 
at  their  interview  ?  ’ 

‘In  truth,  my  dear  lady,’  said  Bucklaw,  ‘it  is  the  very  thing 
that  I  would  have  desired  on  my  own  account ;  for  I  have  been 
so  little  accustomed  to  what  is  called  gallantry,  that  I  shall 
certainly  fall  into  some  cursed  mistake  unless  I  have  the  advan¬ 
tage  of  your  ladyship  as  an  interpreter.’ 

It  was  thus  that  Bucklaw,  in  the  perturbation  of  his  em¬ 
barrassment  upon  this  critical  occasion,  forgot  the  just  appre¬ 
hensions  he  had  entertained  of  Lady  Ashton’s  overbearing 
ascendency  over  her  daughter’s  mind,  and  lost  an  opportunity 
of  ascertaining,  by  his  own  investigation,  the  real  state  of  Lucy’s 
feelings. 

The  other  gentlemen  left  the  room,  and  in  a  short  time  Lady 


266 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


Ashton,  followed  by  her  daughter,  entered  the  apartment.  She 
appeared,  as  he  had  seen  her  on  former  occasions,  rather  com¬ 
posed  than  agitated ;  but  a  nicer  judge  than  he  could  scarce 
have  determined  whether  her  calmness  was  that  of  despair  or 
of  indifference.  Bucklaw  was  too  much  agitated  by  his  own 
feelings  minutely  to  scrutinise  those  of  the  lady.  He  stammered 
out  an  unconnected  address,  confounding  together  the  two  or 
three  topics  to  which  it  related,  and  stopt  short  before  he 
brought  it  to  any  regular  conclusion.  Miss  Ashton  listened,  or 
looked  as  if  she  listened,  but  returned  not  a  single  word  in 
answer,  continuing  to  fix  her  eyes  on  a  small  piece  of  embroidery 
on  which,  as  if  by  instinct  or  habit,  her  fingers  were  busily 
employed.  Lady  Ashton  sat  at  some  distance,  almost  screened 
from  notice  by  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window  in  which  she 
had  placed  her  chair.  From  this  she  whispered,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  which,  though  soft  and  sweet,  had  something  in  it  of 
admonition,  if  not  command  —  ‘Lucy,  my  dear,  remember  — 
have  you  heard  what  Bucklaw  has  been  saying  ?  ’ 

The  idea  of  her  mother’s  presence  seemed  to  have  slipped 
from  the  unhappy  girl’s  recollection.  She  started,  dropped  her 
needle,  and  repeated  hastily,  and  almost  in  the  same  breath, 
the  contradictory  answers,  ‘Yes,  madam  —  no,  my  lady  —  I 
beg  pardon,  I  did  not  hear.’ 

‘  You  need  not  blush,  my  love,  and  still  less  need  you  look 
so  pale  and  frightened,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  coming  forward ;  ‘  we 
know  that  maiden’s  ears  must  be  slowT  in  receiving  a  gentleman’s 
language ;  but  you  must  remember  Mr.  Hayston  speaks  on  a 
subject  on  which  you  have  long  since  agreed  to  give  him  a 
favourable  hearing.  You  know  how  much  your  father  and  I 
have  our  hearts  set  upon  an  event  so  extremely  desirable.’ 

In  Lady  Ashton’s  voice,  a  tone  of  impressive,  and  even 
stern,  innuendo  was  sedulously  and  skilfully  concealed  under 
an  appearance  of  the  most  affectionate  maternal  tenderness. 
The  manner  was  for  Bucklaw,  who  was  easily  enough  imposed 
upon ;  the  matter  of  the  exhortation  was  for  the  terrified 
Lucy,  who  well  knew  how  to  interpret  her  mother’s  hints,  how¬ 
ever  skilfully  their  real  purport  might  be  veiled  from  general 
observation. 

Miss  Ashton  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  cast  round  her  a  glance 
in  which  fear  was  mingled  with  a  still  wilder  expression,  but 
remained  perfectly  silent.  Bucklaw,  who  had  in  the  meantime 
paced  the  room  to  and  fro,  until  he  had  recovered  his  composure, 
now  stopped  within  two  or  three  yards  of  her  chair,  and  broke 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  267 

out  as  follows  ;  ‘  I  believe  I  have  been  a  d — d  fool,  Miss  Ash¬ 
ton  ;  I  have  tried  to  speak  to  you  as  people  tell  me  young 
ladies  like  to  be  talked  to,  and  I  don’t  think  you  comprehend 
what  I  have  been  saying ;  and  no  wonder,  for  d — n  me  if  I 
understand  it  myself !  But,  however,  once  for  all,  and  in  broad 
Scotch,  your  father  and  mother  like  what  is  proposed,  and  if 
you  can  take  a  plain  young  fellow  for  your  husband,  who  will 
never  cross  you  in  anything  you  have  a  mind  to,  I  will  place 
you  at  the  head  of  the  best  establishment  in  the  three  Lothians  ; 
you  shall  have  Lady  Girnington’s  lodging  in  the  Canongate  of 
Edinburgh,  go  where  you  please,  do  what  you  please,  and  see 
what  you  please  —  and  that ’s  fair.  Only  I  must  have  a  corner 
at  the  board-end  for  a  worthless  old  playfellow  of  mine,  whose 
company  I  would  rather  wrant  than  have,  if  it  were  not  that 
the  d — d  fellow  has  persuaded  me  that  I  can’t  do  without  him  ; 
and  so  I  hope  you  won’t  except  against  Craigie,  although  it 
might  be  easy  to  find  much  better  company.’ 

‘Now,  out  upon  you,  Bucklaw,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  again 
interposing;  ‘how  can  you  think  Lucy  can  have  any  objection 
to  that  blunt,  honest,  good-natured  creature,  Captain  Craigen- 
gelt  ?  ’ 

‘Why,  madam,’  replied  Bucklaw,  ‘as  to  Craigie’s  sincerity, 
honesty,  and  good-nature,  they  are,  I  believe,  pretty  much 
upon  a  par ;  but  that ’s  neither  here  nor  there  —  the  fellow 
knows  my  ways,  and  has  got  useful  to  me,  and  I  cannot  well  do 
without  him,  as  I  said  before.  But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the 
purpose ;  for,  since  I  have  mustered  up  courage  to  make  a  plain 
proposal,  I  would  fain  hear  Miss  Ashton,  from  her  own  lips, 
give  me  a  plain  answer.’ 

‘  My  dear  Bucklaw,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  ‘  let  me  spare  Lucy’s 
bashfulness.  I  tell  you,  in  her  presence,  that  she  has  already 
consented  to  be  guided  by  her  father  and  me  in  this  matter. 
Lucy,  my  love,’  she  added,  with  that  singular  combination  of 
suavity  of  tone  and  pointed  energy  which  we  have  already 
noticed  —  ‘  Lucy,  my  dearest  love  !  speak  for  yourself,  is  it  not 
as  I  say  ?  ’ 

Her  victim  answered  in  a  tremulous  and  hollow  voice,  ‘I 
have  promised  to  obey  you  —  but  upon  one  condition.’ 

‘She  means,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  turning  to  Bucklaw,  ‘she 
expects  an  answer  to  the  demand  which  she  has  made  upon  the 
man  at  Vienna,  or  Ratisbon,  or  Paris  —  or  where  is  he  ?  —  for 
restitution  of  the  engagement  in  which  he  had  the  art  to  involve 
her.  You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  friend,  think  it  is  wrong 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


268 


that  she  should  feel  much  delicacy  upon  this  head ;  indeed,  it 
concerns  us  all.’ 

‘Perfectly  right  —  quite  fair,’  said  Bucklaw,  half  humming, 
half  speaking  the  end  of  the  old  song  — 

‘  It  is  best  to  be  off  wi’  the  old  love 
Before  you  be  on  wi’  the  new. 

But  I  thought,’  said  he,  pausing,  ‘you  might  have  had  an 
answer  six  times  told  from  Ravenswood.  D — n  me,  if  I  have 
not  a  mind  to  go  and  fetch  one  myself,  if  Miss  Ashton  will 
honour  me  with  the  commission.’ 

‘By  no  means,’  said  Lady  Ashton ;  ‘we  have  had  the  utmost 
difficulty  of  preventing  Douglas,  for  whom  it  would  be  more 
proper,  from  taking  so  rash  a  step ;  and  do  you  think  we  could 
permit  you,  my  good  friend,  almost  equally  dear  to  us,  to  go  to 
a  desperate  man  upon  an  errand  so  desperate  ?  In  fact,  all  the 
friends  of  the  family  are  of  opinion,  and  my  dear  Lucy  herself 
ought  so  to  think,  that,  as  this  unworthy  person  has  returned 
no  answer  to  her  letter,  silence  must  on  this,  as  in  other  cases, 
be  held  to  give  consent,  and  a  contract  must  be  supposed  to  be 
given  up,  when  the  party  waives  insisting  upon  it.  Sir  William, 
who  should  know  best,  is  clear  upon  this  subject;  and  there¬ 
fore,  my  dear  Lucy - ’ 

‘Madam,’  said  Lucy,  with  unwonted  energy,  ‘urge  me  no 
farther;  if  this  unhappy  engagement  be  restored,  I  have  al¬ 
ready  said  you  shall  dispose  of  me  as  you  will ;  till  then  I 
should  commit  a  heavy  sin  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  in 
doing  what  you  require.’ 

‘  But,  my  love,  if  this  man  remains  obstinately  silent - ’ 

‘He  will  not  be  silent,’  answered  Lucy;  ‘it  is  six  weeks 
since  I  sent  him  a  double  of  my  former  letter  by  a  sure  hand.’ 

‘You  have  not  —  you  could  not  —  you  durst  not,’  said  Lady 
Ashton,  with  violence  inconsistent  with  the  tone  she  had  in¬ 
tended  to  assume ;  but  instantly  correcting  herself,  ‘  My  dearest 
Lucy,’  said  she,  in  her  sweetest  tone  of  expostulation,  ‘  how 
could  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  ’ 

‘No  matter,’  said  Bucklaw;  ‘I  respect  Miss  Ashton  for  her 
sentiments,  and  I  only  wish  I  had  been  her  messenger  myself.’ 

‘And  pray  how  long,  Miss  Ashton,’  said  her  mother,  iron¬ 
ically,  ‘  are  we  to  wait  the  return  of  your  Pacolet  —  your  fairy 
messenger  —  since  our  humble  couriers  of  flesh  and  blood  could 
not  be  trusted  in  this  matter  1  ’ 

‘I  have  numbered  weeks,  days,  hours,  and  minutes,’  said 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


269 


Miss  Ashton ;  ‘  within  another  week  I  shall  have  an  answer, 
unless  he  is  dead.  Till  that  time,  sir/  she  said,  addressing 
Bucklaw,  ‘  let  me  be  thus  far  beholden  to  you,  that  you  will  beg 
my  mother  to  forbear  me  upon  this  subject.’ 

‘I  will  make  it  my  particular  entreaty  to  Lady  Ashton,’  said 
Bucklaw.  ‘  By  my  honour,  madam,  I  respect  your  feelings  ; 
and,  although  the  prosecution  of  this  affair  be  rendered  dearer 
to  me  than  ever,  yet,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  would  renounce  it, 
were  it  so  urged  as  to  give  you  a  moment’s  pain.’ 

‘Mr.  Hayston,  I  think,  cannot  apprehend  that,’  said  Lady 
Ashton,  looking  pale  with  anger,  ‘  when  the  daughter’s  happi¬ 
ness  lies  in  the  bosom  of  the  mother.  Let  me  ask  you,  Miss 
Ashton,  in  what  terms  your  last  letter  was  couched  ?  ’ 

‘Exactly  in  the  same,  madam,’  answered  Lucy,  ‘which  you 
dictated  on  a  former  occasion.’ 

‘When  eight  days  have  elapsed,  then,’  said  her  mother, 
resuming  her  tone  of  tenderness,  ‘we  shall  hope,  my  dearest 
love,  that  you  will  end  this  suspense.’ 

‘  Miss  Ashton  must  not  be  hurried,  madam,’  said  Bucklaw, 
whose  bluntness  of  feeling  did  not  by  any  means  arise  from 
want  of  good-nature ;  ‘  messengers  may  be  stopped  or  delayed. 
I  have  known  a  day’s  journey  broke  by  the  casting  of  a  fore¬ 
shoe.  Stay,  let  me  see  my  calendar  :  the  twentieth  day  from 
this  is  St.  Jude’s,  and  the  day  before  I  must  be  at  Caverton 
Edge,  to  see  the  match  between  the  Laird  of  Kittlegirth’s  black 
mare  and  Johnston  the  meal-monger’s  four-year-old  colt;  but  I 
can  ride  all  night,  or  Craigie  can  bring  me  word  how  the  match 
goes ;  and  I  hope,  in  the  meantime,  as  I  shall  not  myself  dis¬ 
tress  Miss  Ashton  with  any  further  importunity,  that  your 
ladyship  yourself,  and  Sir  William,  and  Colonel  Douglas  will 
have  the  goodness  to  allow  her  uninterrupted  time  for  making 
up  her  mind.’ 

‘Sir,’  said  Miss  Ashton,  ‘you  are  generous.’ 

‘As  for  that,  madam,’  answered  Bucklaw,  ‘I  only  pretend  to 
be  a  plain,  good-humoured  young  fellow,  as  I  said  before,  who 
will  willingly  make  you  happy  if  you  will  permit  him,  and  show 
him  how  to  do  so.’ 

Having  said  this,  he  saluted  her  with  more  emotion  than 
was  consistent  with  his  usual  train  of  feeling,  and  took  his 
leave  ;  Lady  Ashton,  as  she  accompanied  him  out  of  the  apart¬ 
ment,  assuring  him  that  her  daughter  did  full  justice  to  the 
sincerity  of  his  attachment,  and  requesting  him  to  see  Sir 
William  before  his  departure,  ‘since,’  as  she  said,  with  a  keen 


270 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


glance  reverting  towards  Lucy,  ‘against  St.  Jude’s  day,  we 
must  all  be  ready  to  sign  and  seal’ 

‘  To  sign  and  seal !  ’  echoed  Lucy  in  a  muttering  tone,  as 
the  door  of  the  apartment  closed  —  ‘  to  sign  and  seal  —  to  do 
and  die !  ’  and,  clasping  her  extenuated  hands  together,  she 
sunk  back  on  the  easy-chair  she  occupied,  in  a  state  resembling 
stupor. 

From  this  she  was  shortly  after  awakened  by  the  boisterous 
entry  of  her  brother  Henry,  who  clamorously  reminded  her  of 
a  promise  to  give  him  two  yards  of  carnation  ribbon  to  make 
knots  to  his  new  garters.  With  the  most  patient  composure 
Lucy  arose,  and  opening  a  little  ivory  cabinet,  sought  out  the 
ribbon  the  lad  wanted,  measured  it  accurately,  cut  it  off  into 
proper  lengths,  and  knotted  it  into  the  fashion  his  boyish  whim 
required. 

‘  Dinna  shut  the  cabinet  yet,’  said  Henry,  ‘  for  I  must  have 
some  of  your  silver  wire  to  fasten  the  bells  to  my  hawk’s  jesses, 
—  and  yet  the  new  falcon ’s  not  worth  them  neither ;  for  do  you 
know,  after  all  the  plague  we  had  to  get  her  from  an  eyrie,  all 
the  way  at  Posso,  in  Mannor  Water,  she ’s  going  to  prove,  after 
all,  nothing  better  than  a  rifler  :  she  just  wets  her  singles  in 
the  blood  of  the  partridge,  and  then  breaks  away,  and  lets  her 
fly ;  and  what  good  can  the  poor  bird  do  after  that,  you  know, 
except  pine  and  die  in  the  first  heather-cow  or  whin-bush  she 
can  crawl  into  1  ’ 

‘Right,  Henry  —  right — very  right,’  said  Lucy,  mournfully, 
holding  the  boy  fast  by  the  hand,  after  she  had  given  him  the 
wire  he  wanted ;  ‘  but  there  are  more  riflers  in  the  world  than 
your  falcon,  and  more  wounded  birds  that  seek  but  to  die  in 
quiet,  that  can  find  neither  brake  nor  whin-bush  to  hide  their 
heads  in.’ 

‘  Ah  !  that ’s  some  speech  out  of  your  romances,’  said  the 
boy ;  ‘  and  Sholto  says  they  have  turned  your  head.  But  I 
hear  Norman  whistling  to  the  hawk;  I  must  go  fasten  on  the 
jesses.’ 

And  he  scampered  away  with  the  thoughtless  gaiety  of  boy¬ 
hood,  leaving  his  sister  to  the  bitterness  of  her  own  reflections. 

‘It  is  decreed,’  she  said,  ‘that  every  living  creature,  even 
those  who  owe  me  most  kindness,  are  to  shun  me,  and  leave 
me  to  those  by  whom  I  am  beset.  It  is  just  it  should  be  thus. 
Alone  and  uncounselled,  I  involved  myself  in  these  perils ;  alone 
and  uncounselled;  I  must  extricate  myself  or  die.’ 


CHAPTER  XXX 


What  doth  ensue 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 

Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair, 

And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures,  and  foes  to  life  ? 

Comedy  of  Errors. 

A  S  some  vindication  of  the  ease  with  which  Bucklaw  (who 
otherwise,  as  he  termed  himself,  was  really  a  very 
-a.  A*  good-humoured  fellow)  resigned  his  judgment  to  the 
management  of  Lady  Ashton,  while  paying  his  addresses  to  her 
daughter,  the  reader  must  call  to  mind  the  strict  domestic 
discipline  which,  at  this  period,  was  exercised  over  the  females 
of  a  Scottish  family. 

The  manners  of  the  country  in  this,  as  in  many  other 
respects,  coincided  with  those  of  France  before  the  Revolution. 
Young  women  of  the  higher  ranks  seldom  mingled  in  society 
until  after  marriage,  and,  both  in  law  and  fact,  were  held  to  be 
under  the  strict  tutelage  of  their  parents,  who  were  too  apt  to 
enforce  the  views  for  their  settlement  in  life  without  paying 
any  regard  to  the  inclination  of  the  parties  chiefly  interested. 
On  such  occasions,  the  suitor  expected  little  more  from  his  bride 
than  a  silent  acquiescence  in  the  will  of  her  parents ;  and  as 
few  opportunities  of  acquaintance,  far  less  of  intimacy,  occurred, 
he  made  his  choice  by  the  outside,  as  the  lovers  in  the  Merchant 
of  Venice  select  the  casket,  contented  to  trust  to  chance  the 
issue  of  the  lottery  in  which  he  had  hazarded  a  venture. 

It  was  not  therefore  surprising,  such  being  the  general 
manners  of  the  age,  that  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  whom 
dissipated  habits  had  detached  in  some  degree  from  the  best 
society,  should  not  attend  particularly  to  those  feelings  in  his 
elected  bride  to  which  many  men  of  more  sentiment,  experience, 
and  reflection  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  equally 
indifferent.  He  knew  what  all  accounted  the  principal  point, 


272 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


that  her  parents  and  friends,  namely,  were  decidedly  in  his 
favour,  and  there  existed  most  powerful  reasons  for  their 
predilection. 

In  truth,  the  conduct  of  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  since 

Ravenswood’s  departure,  had  been  such  as  almost  to  bar  the 
possibility  of  his  kinsman’s  union  with  Lucy  Ashton.  The 
Marquis  was  Ravenswood’s  sincere  but  misjudging  friend ;  or 
rather,  like  many  friends  and  patrons,  he  consulted  what  he 
considered  to  be  his  relation’s  true  interest,  although  he  knew 
that  in  doing  so  he  run  counter  to  his  inclinations. 

The  Marquis  drove  on,  therefore,  with  the  plenitude  of 
ministerial  authority,  an  appeal  to  the  British  House  of  Peers 
against  those  judgments  of  the  courts  of  law  by  which  Sir 
William  became  possessed  of  Ravenswood’s  hereditary  property. 
As  this  measure,  enforced  with  all  the  authority  of  power,  was 
new  in  Scottish  judicial  proceedings,  though  now  so  frequently 
resorted  to,  it  was  exclaimed  against  by  the  lawyers  on  the 
opposite  side  of  politics,  as  an  interference  with  the  civil  judica¬ 
ture  of  the  country,  equally  new,  arbitrary,  and  tyrannical. 
And  if  it  thus  affected  even  strangers  connected  with  them 
only  by  political  party,  it  may  be  guessed  what  the  Ashton 
family  themselves  said  and  thought  under  so  gross  a  dispen¬ 
sation.  Sir  William,  still  more  worldly-minded  than  he 
was  timid,  was  reduced  to  despair  by  the  loss  by  which  he  was 
threatened.  His  son’s  haughtier  spirit  was  exalted  into  rage 
at  the  idea  of  being  deprived  of  his  expected  patrimony.  But 
to  Lady  Ashton’s  yet  more  vindictive  temper  the  conduct  of 
Ravenswood,  or  rather  of  his  patron,  appeared  to  be  an  offence 
challenging  the  deepest  and  most  mortal  revenge.  Even  the 
quiet  and  confiding  temper  of  Lucy  herself,  swayed  by  the 
opinions  expressed  by  all  around  her,  could  not  but  consider 
the  conduct  of  Ravenswood  as  precipitate,  and  even  unkind. 
‘It  was  my  father,’  she  repeated  with  a  sigh,  ‘who  welcomed 
him  to  this  place,  and  encouraged,  or  at  least  allowed,  the 
intimacy  between  us.  Should  he  not  have  remembered  this, 
and  requited  it  with  at  least  some  moderate  degree  of  pro¬ 
crastination  in  the  assertion  of  his  own  alleged  rights  I  I  would 
have  forfeited  for  him  double  the  value  of  these  lands,  which 
he  pursues  with  an  ardour  that  shows  he  has  forgotten  how 
much  I  am  implicated  in  the  matter.’ 

Lucy,  however,  could  only  murmur  these  things  to  herself, 
unwilling  to  increase  the  prejudices  against  her  lover  enter¬ 
tained  by  all  around  her,  who  exclaimed  against  the  steps 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


273 


pursued  on  his  account  as  illegal,  vexatious,  and  tyrannical, 
resembling  the  worst  measures  in  the  worst  times  of  the  worst 
Stuarts,  and  a  degradation  of  Scotland,  the  decisions  of  whose 
learned  judges  were  thus  subjected  to  the  review  of  a  court 
composed  indeed  of  men  of  the  highest  rank,  but  who  were  not 
trained  to  the  study  of  any  municipal  law,  and  might  be 
supposed  specially  to  hold  in  contempt  that  of  Scotland.  As  a 
natural  consequence  of  the  alleged  injustice  meditated  towards 
her  father,  every  means  was  resorted  to,  and  every  argument 
urged,  to  induce  Miss  Ashton  to  break  off  her  engagement  with 
Ravenswood,  as  being  scandalous,  shameful,  and  sinful,  formed 
with  the  mortal  enemy  of  her  family,  and  calculated  to  add 
bitterness  to  the  distress  of  her  parents. 

Lucy’s  spirit,  however,  was  high,  and,  although  unaided  and 
alone,  she  could  have  borne  much  :  she  could  have  endured  the 
repinings  of  her  father;  his  murmurs  against  what  he  called 
the  tyrannical  usage  of  the  ruling  party ;  his  ceaseless  charges 
of  ingratitude  against  Ravenswood ;  his  endless  lectures  on  the 
various  means  by  which  contracts  may  be  voided  and  annulled ; 
his  quotations  from  the  civil,  the  municipal,  and  the  canon 
law ;  and  his  prelections  upon  the  patria  potestas. 

She  might  have  borne  also  in  patience,  or  repelled  with 
scorn,  the  bitter  taunts  and  occasional  violence  of  her  brother, 
Colonel  Douglas  Ashton,  and  the  impertinent  and  intrusive 
interference  of  other  friends  and  relations.  But  it  was  beyond 
her  power  effectually  to  withstand  or  elude  the  constant  and 
unceasing  persecution  of  Lady  Ashton,  who,  laying  every  other 
wish  aside,  had  bent  the  whole  efforts  of  her  powerful  mind  to 
break  her  daughter’s  contract  with  Ravenswood,  and  to  place 
a  perpetual  bar  between  the  lovers,  by  effecting  Lucy’s  union 
with  Bucklaw.  Far  more  deeply  skilled  than  her  husband  in 
the  recesses  of  the  human  heart,  she  was  aware  that  in  this 
way  she  might  strike  a  blow  of  deep  and  decisive  vengeance 
upon  one  whom  she  esteemed  as  her  mortal  enemy ;  nor  did 
she  hesitate  at  raising  her  arm,  although  she  knew  that 
the  wound  must  be  dealt  through  the  bosom  of  her  daughter. 
With  this  stern  and  fixed  purpose,  she  sounded  every  deep 
and  shallow  of  her  daughter’s  soul,  assumed  alternately  every 
disguise  of  manner  which  could  serve  her  object,  and  pre¬ 
pared  at  leisure  every  species  of  dire  machinery  by  which 
the  human  mind  can  be  wrenched  from  its  settled  determina¬ 
tion.  Some  of  these  were  of  an  obvious  description,  and  require 
only  to  be  cursorily  mentioned ;  others  were  characteristic  of 

VOL.  VIII  — 18 


274  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

the  time,  the  country,  and  the  persons  engaged  in  this  singular 
drama. 

It  was  of  the  last  consequence  that  all  intercourse  betwixt  the 
lovers  should  be  stopped,  and,  by  dint  of  gold  and  authority, 
Lady  Ashton  contrived  to  possess  herself  of  such  a  complete 
command  of  all  who  were  placed  around  her  daughter,  that,  in 
fact,  no  leaguered  fortress  was  ever  more  completely  blockaded ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  to  all  outward  appearance  Miss 
Ashton  lay  under  no  restriction.  The  verge  of  her  parents’ 
domains  became,  in  respect  to  her,  like  the  viewless  and 
enchanted  line  drawn  around  a  fairy  castle,  where  nothing 
unpermitted  can  either  enter  from  without  or  escape  from 
within.  Thus  every  letter,  in  which  Ravenswood  conveyed  to 
Lucy  Ashton  the  indispensable  reasons  which  detained  him 
abroad,  and  more  than  one  note  which  poor  Lucy  had  addressed 
to  him  through  what  she  thought  a  secure  channel,  fell  into 
the  hands  of  her  mother.  It  could  not  be  but  that  the  tenor 
of  these  intercepted  letters,  especially  those  of  Ravenswood, 
should  contain  something  to  irritate  the  passions  and  fortify 
the  obstinacy  of  her  into  whose  hands  they  fell ;  but  Lady 
Ashton’s  passions  were  too  deep-rooted  to  require  this  fresh 
food.  She  burnt  the  papers  as  regularly  as  she  perused  them  ; 
and  as  they  consumed  into  vapour  and  tinder,  regarded  them 
with  a  smile  upon  her  compressed  lips,  and  an  exultation  in  her 
steady  eye,  which  showed  her  confidence  that  the  hopes  of  the 
writers  should  soon  be  rendered  equally  unsubstantial. 

It  usually  happens  that  fortune  aids  the  machinations  of 
those  who  are  prompt  to  avail  themselves  of  every  chance  that 
offers.  A  report  was  wafted  from  the  continent,  founded,  like 
others  of  the  same  sort,  upon  many  plausible  circumstances, 
but  without  any  real  basis,  stating  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
to  be  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  a  foreign  lady  of  fortune  and 
distinction.  This  was  greedily  caught  up  by  both  the  political 
parties,  who  were  at  once  struggling  for  power  and  for  popular 
favour,  and  who  seized,  as  usual,  upon  the  most  private  cir¬ 
cumstances  in  the  lives  of  each  other’s  partizans  to  convert 
them  into  subjects  of  political  discussion. 

The  Marquis  of  A - gave  his  opinion  aloud  and  publicly, 

not  indeed  in  the  coarse  terms  ascribed  to  him  by  Captain 
Craigengelt,  but  in  a  manner  sufficiently  offensive  to  the 
Ashtons.  ‘He  thought  the  report,’ he  said, ‘highly  probable, 
and  heartily  wished  it  might  be  true.  Such  a  match  was  fitter 
and  far  more  creditable  for  a  spirited  young  fellow  than  a 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  275 

marriage  with  the  daughter  of  an  old  Whig  lawyer,  whose 
chicanery  had  so  nearly  ruined  his  father/ 

The  other  party,  of  course,  laying  out  of  view  the  opposition 
which  the  Master  of  ftavenswood  received  from  Miss  Ashton’s 
family,  cried  shame  upon  his  fickleness  and  perfidy,  as  if  he 
had  seduced  the  young  lady  into  an  engagement,  and  wilfully 
and  causelessly  abandoned  her  for  another. 

Sufficient  care  was  taken  that  this  report  should  find  its  way  to 
Ravenswood  Castle  through  every  various  channel,  Lady  Ashton 
being  well  aware  that  the  very  reiteration  of  the  same  rumour, 
from  so  many  quarters,  could  not  but  give  it  a  semblance  of 
truth.  By  some  it  was  told  as  a  piece  of  ordinary  news,  by  some 
communicated  as  serious  intelligence ;  now  it  was  whispered  to 
Lucy  Ashton’s  ear  in  the  tone  of  malignant  pleasantry,  and  now 
transmitted  to  her  as  a  matter  of  grave  and  serious  warning. 

Even  the  boy  Henry  was  made  the  instrument  of  adding  to 
his  sister’s  torments.  One  morning  he  rushed  into  the  room 
with  a  willow  branch  in  his  hand,  which  he  told  her  had  arrived 
that  instant  from  Germany  for  her  special  wearing.  Lucy,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  remarkably  fond  of  her  younger  brother,  and 
at  that  moment  his  wanton  and  thoughtless  unkindness  seemed 
more  keenly  injurious  than  even  the  studied  insults  of  her  elder 
brother.  Her  grief,  however,  had  no  shade  of  resentment ;  she 
folded  her  arms  about  the  boy’s  neck,  and  saying  faintly,  ‘  Poor 
Henry  !  you  speak  but  what  they  tell  you,’  she  burst  into  a  flood 
of  unrestrained  tears.  The  boy  was  moved,  notwithstanding 
the  thoughtlessness  of  his  age  and  character.  ‘  The  devil  take 
me,’  said  he,  ‘  Lucy,  if  I  fetch  you  any  more  of  these  tormenting 
messages  again;  for  I  like  you  better,’  said  he,  kissing  away 
the  tears,  ‘  than  the  whole  pack  of  them ;  and  you  shall  have 
my  grey  pony  to  ride  on,  and  you  shall  canter  him  if  you  like, 
—  ay,  and  ride  beyond  the  village,  too,  if  you  have  a  mind.  ’ 
‘Who  told  you,’  said  Lucy,  ‘that  I  am  not  permitted  to  ride 
where  I  please  ?  ’ 

‘That’s  a  secret,’  said  the  boy;  ‘but  you  will  find  you  can 
never  ride  beyond  the  village  but  your  horse  will  cast  a  shoe, 
or  fall  lame,  or  the  castle  bell  will  ring,  or  something  will 
happen  to  bring  you  back.  But  if  I  tell  you  more  of  these 
things,  Douglas  will  not  get  me  the  pair  of  colours  they  have 
promised  me,  and  so  good-morrow  to  you.’ 

This  dialogue  plunged  Lucy  in  still  deeper  dejection,  as  it 
tended  to  show  her  plainly  what  she  had  for  some  time  sus¬ 
pected,  that  she  was  little  better  than  a  prisoner  at  large  in  her 


276 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


father’s  house.  We  have  described  her  in  the  outset  of  our 
story  as  of  a  romantic  disposition,  delighting  in  tales  of  love 
and  wonder,  and  readily  identifying  herself  with  the  situation 
of  those  legendary  heroines  with  whose  adventures,  for  want  of 
better  reading,  her  memory  had  become  stocked.  The  fairy 
wand,  with  which  in  her  solitude  she  had  delighted  to  raise 
visions  of  enchantment,  became  now  the  rod  of  a  magician,  the 
bond  slave  of  evil  genii,  serving  only  to  invoke  spectres  at  which 
the  exorcist  trembled.  She  felt  herself  the  object  of  suspicion, 
of  scorn,  of  dislike  at  least,  if  not  of  hatred,  to  her  own  family ; 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  abandoned  by  the  very  person 
on  whose  account  she  was  exposed  to  the  enmity  of  all  around 
her.  Indeed,  the  evidence  of  Ravenswood’s  infidelity  began  to 
assume  every  day  a  more  determined  character. 

A  soldier  of  fortune,  of  the  name  of  Westenho,  an  old  famil¬ 
iar  of  Craigengelt’s,  chanced  to  arrive  from  abroad  about  this 
time.  The  worthy  Captain,  though  without  any  precise  com¬ 
munication  with  Lady  Ashton,  always  acted  most  regularly 
and  sedulously  in  support  of  her  plans,  and  easily  prevailed 
upon  his  friend,  by  dint  of  exaggeration  of  real  circumstances 
and  coining  of  others,  to  give  explicit  testimony  to  the  truth  of 
Ravenswood’s  approaching  marriage. 

Thus  beset  on  all  hands,  and  in  a  manner  reduced  to  despair, 
Lucy’s  temper  gave  way  under  the  pressure  of  constant  affliction 
and  persecution.  She  became  gloomy  and  abstracted,  and,  con¬ 
trary  to  her  natural  and  ordinary  habit  of  mind,  sometimes  turned 
with  spirit,  and  even  fierceness,  on  those  by  whom  she  was  long 
and  closely  annoyed.  Her  health  also  began  to  be  shaken,  and 
her  hectic  cheek  and  wandering  eye  gave  symptoms  of  what  is 
called  a  fever  upon  the  spirits.  In  most  mothers  this  would 
have  moved  compassion ;  but  Lady  Ashton,  compact  and  firm  of 
purpose,  saw  these  waverings  of  health  and  intellect  with  no 
greater  sympathy  than  that  with  which  the  hostile  engineer 
regards  the  towers  of  a  beleaguered  city  as  they  reel  under  the 
discharge  of  his  artillery ;  or  rather,  she  considered  these  starts 
and  inequalities  of  temper  as  symptoms  of  Lucy’s  expiring  reso¬ 
lution  ;  as  the  angler,  by  the  throes  and  convulsive  exertions  of 
the  fish  which  he  has  hooked,  becomes  aware  that  he  soon  will 
be  able  to  land  him.  To  accelerate  the  catastrophe  in  the  present 
case,  Lady  Ashton  had  recourse  to  an  expedient  very  consistent 
with  the  temper  and  credulity  of  those  times,  but  which  the 
reader  will  probably  pronounce  truly  detestable  and  diabolical. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


In  which  a  witch  did  dwell,  in  loathly  weeds, 

And  wilful  want,  all  careless  of  her  needs  ; 

So  choosing  solitary  to  abide, 

Far  from  all  neighbours,  that  her  devilish  deeds 
And  hellish  arts  from  people  she  might  hide, 

And  hurt  far  off,  unknown,  whome’er  she  envied. 

Faerie  Queene. 

THE  health  of  Lucy  Ashton  soon  required  the  assistance 
of  a  person  more  skilful  in  the  office  of  a  sick-nurse 
than  the  female  domestics  of  the  family.  Ailsie  Gour- 
lay,  sometimes  called  the  Wise  Woman  of  Bowden,  was  the  per¬ 
son  whom,  for  her  own  strong  reasons,  Lady  Ashton  selected  as 
an  attendant  upon  her  daughter. 

This  woman  had  acquired  a  considerable  reputation  among 
the  ignorant  by  the  pretended  cures  which  she  performed, 
especially  in  ‘oncomes,’  as  the  Scotch  call  them,  or  mysterious 
diseases,  which  baffle  the  regular  physician.  Her  pharmacopoeia 
consisted  partly  of  herbs  selected  in  planetary  hours,  partly  of 
words,  signs,  and  charms,  which  sometimes,  perhaps,  produced 
a  favourable  influence  upon  the  imagination  of  her  patients. 
Such  was  the  avowed  profession  of  Luckie  Gourlay,  which,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  was  looked  upon  with  a  suspicious  eye, 
not  only  by  her  neighbours,  but  even  by  the  clergy  of  the 
district.  In  private,  however,  she  traded  more  deeply  in  the 
occult  sciences ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  dreadful  punishments 
inflicted  upon  the  supposed  crime  of  witchcraft,  there  wanted 
not  those  who,  steeled  by  want  and  bitterness  of  spirit,  were 
willing  to  adopt  the  hateful  and  dangerous  character,  for  the 
sake  of  the  influence  which  its  terrors  enabled  them  to  exercise 
in  the  vicinity,  and  the  wretched  emolument  which  they  could 
extract  by  the  practice  of  their  supposed  art. 

Ailsie  Gourlay  was  not  indeed  fool  enough  to  acknowledge  a 
compact  with  the  Evil  One,  which  would  have  been  a  swift  and 


278 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


ready  road  to  the  stake  and  tar-barrel.  Her  fairy,  she  said, 
like  Caliban’s  was  a  harmless  fairy.  Nevertheless,  she  ‘spaed 
fortunes,’  read  dreams,  composed  philtres,  discovered  stolen 
goods,  and  made  and  dissolved  matches  as  successfully  as  if, 
according  to  the  belief  of  the  whole  neighbourhood,  she  had 
been  aided  in  those  arts  by  Beelzebub  himself.  The  worst  of 
the  pretenders  to  these  sciences  was,  that  they  were  generally 
persons  who,  feeling  themselves  odious  to  humanity,  were  care¬ 
less  of  what  they  did  to  deserve  the  public  hatred.  Real  crimes 
were  often  committed  under  pretence  of  magical  imposture  ; 
and  it  somewhat  relieves  the  disgust  with  which  we  read,  in 
the  criminal  records,  the  conviction  of  these  wretches,  to  be 
aware  that  many  of  them  merited,  as  poisoners,  suborners,  and 
diabolical  agents  in  secret  domestic  crimes,  the  severe  fate  to 
which  they  were  condemned  for  the  imaginary  guilt  of  witch¬ 
craft. 

Such  was  Ailsie  Gourlay,  whom,  in  order  to  attain  the  abso¬ 
lute  subjugation  of  Lucy  Ashton’s  mind,  her  mother  thought 
it  fitting  to  place  near  her  person.  A  woman  of  less  conse¬ 
quence  than  Lady  Ashton  had  not  dared  to  take  such  a  step ; 
but  her  high  rank  and  strength  of  character  set  her  above 
the  censure  of  the  world,  and  she  was  allowed  to  have  selected 
for  her  daughter’s  attendant  the  best  and  most  experienced 
sick-nurse  and  ‘mediciner’  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  an 
inferior  person  would  have  fallen  under  the  reproach  of  calling 
in  the  assistance  of  a  partner  and  ally  of  the  great  Enemy  of 
mankind. 

The  beldam  caught  her  cue  readily  and  by  innuendo,  with¬ 
out  giving  Lady  Ashton  the  pain  of  distinct  explanation.  She 
was  in  many  respects  qualified  for  the  part  she  played,  which 
indeed  could  not  be  efficiently  assumed  without  some  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  human  heart  and  passions.  Dame  Gourlay  per¬ 
ceived  that  Lucy  shuddered  at  her  external  appearance,  which 
we  have  already  described  when  we  found  her  in  the  death- 
chamber  of  blind  Alice ;  and  while  internally  she  hated  the 
poor  girl  for  the  involuntary  horror  with  which  she  saw  she  was 
regarded,  she  commenced  her  operations  by  endeavouring  to 
efface  or  overcome  those  prejudices  which,  in  her  heart,  she 
resented  as  mortal  offences.  This  was  easily  done,  for  the 
hag’s  external  ugliness  was  soon  balanced  by  a  show  of  kindness 
and  interest,  to  which  Lucy  had  of  late  been  little  accustomed ; 
her  attentive  services  and  real  skill  gained  her.  the  ear,  if  not 
the  confidence,  of  her  patient  ■  and  under  pretence  of  diverting 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


279 


the  solitude  of  a  sick-room,  she  soon  led  her  attention  captive 
by  the  legends  in  which  she  was  well  skilled,  and  to  which 
Lucy’s  habits  of  reading  and  reflection  induced  her  to  ‘  lend  an 
attentive  ear.’  Dame  Gourlay’s  tales  were  at  first  of  a  mild 
and  interesting  character  — 

Of  fays  that  nightly  dance  upon  the  wold, 

And  lovers  doom’d  to  wander  and  to  weep, 

And  castles  high,  where  wicked  wizards  keep 

Their  captive  thralls. 

Gradually,  however,  they  assumed  a  darker  and  more  mys¬ 
terious  character,  and  became  such  as,  told  by  the  midnight 
lamp,  and  enforced  by  the  tremulous  tone,  the  quivering  and 
livid  lip,  the  uplifted  skinny  forefinger,  and  the  shaking  head 
of  the  blue-eyed  hag,  might  have  appalled  a  less  credulous  im¬ 
agination  in  an  age  more  hard  of  belief.  The  old  Sycorax  saw 
her  advantage,  and  gradually  narrowed  her  magic  circle  around 
the  devoted  victim  on  whose  spirit  she  practised.  Her  legends 
began  to  relate  to  the  fortunes  of  the  Ravenswood  family, 
whose  ancient  grandeur  and  portentous  authority  credulity 
had  graced  with  so  many  superstitious  attributes.  The  story 
of  the  fatal  fountain  was  narrated  at  full  length,  and  with 
formidable  additions,  by  the  ancient  sibyl.  The  prophecy, 
quoted  by  Caleb,  concerning  the  dead  bride  who  was  to  be  won 
by  the  last  of  the  Ravenswoods,  had  its  own  mysterious  com¬ 
mentary  ;  and  the  singular  circumstance  of  the  apparition  seen 
by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  in  the  forest,  having  partly  trans¬ 
pired  through  his  hasty  inquiries  in  the  cottage  of  Old  Alice, 
formed  a  theme  for  many  exaggerations. 

Lucy  might  have  despised  these  tales  if  they  had  been  re¬ 
lated  concerning  another  family,  or  if  her  own  situation  had 
been  less  despondent.  But  circumstanced  as  she  was,  the  idea 
that  an  evil  fate  hung  over  her  attachment  became  predomi¬ 
nant  over  her  other  feelings ;  and  the  gloom  of  superstition 
darkened  a  mind  already  sufficiently  weakened  by  sorrow,  dis¬ 
tress,  uncertainty,  and  an  oppressive  sense  of  desertion  and 
desolation.  Stories  were  told  by  her  attendant  so  closely 
resembling  her  own  in  their  circumstances,  that  she  was 
gradually  led  to  converse  upon  such  tragic  and  mystical 
subjects  with  the  beldam,  and  to  repose  a  sort  of  confidence  in 
the  sibyl,  whom  she  still  regarded  with  involuntary  shudder¬ 
ing.  Dame  Gourlay  knew  how  to  avail  herself  of  this  imperfect 
confidence.  She  directed  Lucy’s  thoughts  to  the  means  of 


280 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


inquiring  into  futurity  —  the  surest  mode,  perhaps,  of  shaking 
the  understanding  and  destroying  the  spirits.  Omens  were 
expounded,  dreams  were  interpreted,  and  other  tricks  of 
jugglery  perhaps  resorted  to,  by  which  the  pretended  adepts 
of  the  period  deceived  and  fascinated  their  deluded  followers. 
I  find  it  mentioned  in  the  articles  of  dittay  against  Ailsie 
Gourlay  —  for  it  is  some  comfort  to  know  that  the  old  hag  was 
tried,  condemned,  and  burned  on  the  top  of  North  Berwick 
Law,  by  sentence  of  a  commission  from  the  privy  council  — 
I  find,  I  say,  it  was  charged  against  her,  among  other  offences, 
that  she  had,  by  the  aid  and  delusions  of  Satan,  shown  to  a 
young  person  of  quality  in  a  mirror  glass,  a  gentleman  then 
abroad,  to  whom  the  said  young  person  was  betrothed,  and 
who  appeared  in  the  vision  to  be  in  the  act  of  bestowing  his 
hand  upon  another  lady.  But  this  and  some  other  parts  of 
the  record  appear  to  have  been  studiously  left  imperfect  in 
names  and  dates,  probably  out  of  regard  to  the  honour  of  the 
families  concerned.  If  Dame  Gourlay  was  able  actually  to 
play  off  such  a  piece  of  jugglery,  it  is  clear  she  must  have  had 
better  assistance  to  practise  the  deception  than  her  own  skill 
or  funds  could  supply.  Meanwhile,  this  mysterious  visionary 
traffic  had  its  usual  effect  in  unsettling  Miss  Ashton’s  mind. 
Her  temper  became  unequal,  her  health  decayed  daily,  her 
manners  grew  moping,  melancholy,  and  uncertain.  Her  father, 
guessing  partly  at  the  cause  of  these  appearances,  and  exert¬ 
ing  a  degree  of  authority  unusual  with  him,  made  a  point  of 
banishing  Dame  Gourlay  from  the  castle;  but  the  arrow  was 
shot,  and  was  rankling  barb-deep  in  the  side  of  the  wounded 
deer. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  departure  of  this  woman,  that  Lucy 
Ashton,  urged  by  her  parents,  announced  to  them,  with  a 
vivacity  by  which  they  were  startled,  ‘  That  she  was  conscious 
heaven  and  earth  and  hell  had  set  themselves  against  her 
union  with  Bavenswood ;  still  her  contract,’  she  said,  Svas  a 
binding  contract,  and  she  neither  would  nor  could  resign  it 
without  the  consent  of  Bavenswood.  Let  me  he  assured,’  she 
concluded,  ‘that  he  will  free  me  from  my  engagement,  and 
dispose  of  me  as  you  please,  I  care  not  how.  When  the 
diamonds  are  gone,  what  signifies  the  casket  ?  ’ 

The  tone  of  obstinacy  with  which  this  was  said,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  unnatural  light,  and  her  hands  firmly  clenched, 
precluded  the  possibility  of  dispute;  and  the  utmost  length 
which  Lady  Ashton’s  art  could  attain,  only  got  her  the  privilege 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


281 


of  dictating  the  letter,  by  which  her  daughter  required  to 
know  of  Ravenswood  whether  he  intended  to  abide  by  or  to 
surrender  what  she  termed  ‘their  unfortunate  engagement.’ 
Of  this  advantage  Lady  Ashton  so  far  and  so  ingeniously 
availed  herself  that,  according  to  the  wording  of  the  letter, 
the  reader  would  have  supposed  Lucy  was  calling  upon  her 
lover  to  renounce  a  contract  which  was  contrary  to  the 
interests  and  inclinations  of  both.  Not  trusting  even  to  this 
point  of  deception,  Lady  Ashton  finally  determined  to  suppress 
the  letter  altogether,  in  hopes  that  Lucy’s  impatience  would 
induce  her  to  condemn  Ravenswood  unheard  and  in  absence. 
In  this  she  was  disappointed.  The  time,  indeed,  had  long 
elapsed  when  an  answer  should  have  been  received  from  the 
continent.  The  faint  ray  of  hope  which  still  glimmered  in 
Lucy’s  mind  was  wellnigh  extinguished.  But  the  idea  never 
forsook  her  that  her  letter  might  not  have  been  duly  for¬ 
warded.  One  of  her  mother’s  new  machinations  unexpectedly 
furnished  her  with  the  means  of  ascertaining  what  she  most 
desired  to  know. 

The  female  agent  of  hell  having  been  dismissed  from  the 
castle,  Lady  Ashton,  who  wrought  by  all  variety  of  means, 
resolved  to  employ,  for  working  the  same  end  on  Lucy’s  mind, 
an  agent  of  a  very  different  character.  This  was  no  other  than 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,  a  Presbyterian  clergyman, 
formerly  mentioned,  of  the  very  strictest  order  and  the  most 
rigid  orthodoxy,  whose  aid  she  called  in,  upon  the  principle  of 
the  tyrant  in  the  tragedy  : 

I  ’ll  have  a  priest  shall  preach  her  from  her  faith, 

And  make  it  sin  not  to  renounce  that  vow 

Which  I  ’d  have  broken. 

But  Lady  Ashton  was  mistaken  in  the  agent  she  had  selected. 
His  prejudices,  indeed,  were  easily  enlisted  on  her  side,  and  it 
was  no  difficult  matter  to  make  him  regard  with  horror  the 
prospect  of  a  union  betwixt  the  daughter  of  a  God-fearing, 
professing,  and  Presbyterian  family  of  distinction  with  the 
heir  of  a  blood-thirsty  prelatist  and  persecutor,  the  hands  of 
whose  fathers  had  been  dyed  to  the  wrists  in  the  blood  of 
God’s  saints.  This  resembled,  in  the  divine’s  opinion,  the 
union  of  a  Moabitish  stranger  with  a  daughter  of  Zion.  But 
with  all  the  more  severe  prejudices  and  principles  of  his  sect, 
Bide-the-Bent  possessed  a  sound  judgment,  and  had  learnt 
sympathy  even  in  that  very  school  of  persecution  where  the 


282 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


heart  is  so  frequently  hardened.  In  a  private  interview  with 
Miss  Ashton,  he  was  deeply  moved  by  her  distress,  and  could 
not  but  admit  the  justice  of  her  request  to  be  permitted  a 
direct  communication  with  Ravenswood  upon  the  subject  of 
their  solemn  contract.  When  she  urged  to  him  the  great 
uncertainty  under  which  she  laboured  whether  h^r  letter  had 
been  ever  forwarded,  the  old  man  paced  the  room  with  long 
steps,  shook  his  grey  head,  rested  repeatedly  for  a  space  on  his 
ivory-headed  staff,  and,  after  much  hesitation,  confessed  that 
he  thought  her  doubts  so  reasonable  that  he  would  himself 
aid  in  the  removal  of  them. 

‘  I  cannot  but  opine,  Miss  Lucy/  he  said,  ‘that  your  wor¬ 
shipful  lady  mother  hath  in  this  matter  an  eagerness  whilk, 
although  it  ariseth  doubtless  from  love  to  your  best  interests 
here  and  hereafter,  for  the  man  is  of  persecuting  blood,  and 
himself  a  persecutor,  a  Cavalier  or  Malignant,  and  a  scoffer, 
who  hath  no  inheritance  in  Jesse ;  nevertheless,  we  are  com¬ 
manded  to  do  justice  unto  all,  and  to  fulfil  our  bond  and 
covenant,  as  well  to  the  stranger  as  to  him  who  is  in  brother¬ 
hood  with  us.  Wherefore  myself,  even  I  myself,  will  be  aiding 
unto  the  delivery  of  your  letter  to  the  man  Edgar  Ravenswood, 
trusting  that  the  issue  thereof  may  be  your  deliverance  from 
the  nets  in  which  he  hath  sinfully  engaged  you.  And  that  I 
may  do  in  this  neither  more  nor  less  than  hath  been  warranted 
by  your  honourable  parents,  I  pray  you  to  transcribe,  without 
increment  or  subtraction,  the  letter  formerly  expeded  under 
the  dictation  of  your  right  honourable  mother ;  and  I  shall  put 
it  into  such  sure  course  of  being  delivered,  that  if,  honoured 
young  madam,  you  shall  receive  no  answer,  it  will  be  necessary 
that  you  conclude  that  the  man  meaneth  in  silence  to  abandon 
that  naughty  contract,  which,  peradventure,  he  may  he  unwilling 
directly  to  restore.’ 

Lucy  eagerly  embraced  the  expedient  of  the  worthy  divine. 
A  new  letter  was  written  in  the  precise  terms  of  the  former, 
and  consigned  by  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent  to  the  charge  of  Saunders 
Moonshine,  a  zealous  elder  of  the  church  when  on  shore,  and 
when  on  board  his  brig  as  bold  a  smuggler  as  ever  ran  out  a 
sliding  bowsprit  to  the  winds  that  blow  betwixt  Campvere  and 
the  east  coast  of  Scotland.  At  the  recommendation  of  his 
pastor,  Saunders  readily  undertook  that  the  letter  should  he 
securely  conveyed  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  at  the  court 
where  he  new  resided. 

This  retrospect  became  necessary  to  explain  the  conference 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


283 


betwixt  Miss  Ashton,  her  mother,  and  Bucklaw  which  we  have 
detailed  in  a  preceding  chapter. 

Lucy  was  now  like  the  sailor  who,  while  drifting  through  a 
tempestuous  ocean,  clings  for  safety  to  a  single  plank,  his 
powers  of  grasping  it  becoming  every  moment  more  feeble,  and 
the  deep  darkness  of  the  night  only  checkered  by  the  flashes 
of  lightning  hissing  as  they  show  the  white  tops  of  the  billows, 
in  which  he  is  soon  to  be  engulfed. 

Week  crept  away  after  week,  and  day  after  day.  St.  Jude’s 
day  arrived,  the  last  and  protracted  term  to  which  Lucy  had 
limited  herself,  and  there  was  neither  letter  nor  news  of 
Ravenswood. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


How  fair  these  names,  how  much  unlike  they  look 
To  all  the  blurr’d  subscriptions  in  my  book  ! 

The  bridegroom’s  letters  stand  in  row  above, 

Tapering,  yet  straight,  like  pine-trees  in  his  grove  ; 

While  free  and  fine  the  bride’s  appear  below, 

As  light  and  slender  as  her  jessamines  grow. 

Crabbe. 

ST.  JUDE’S  day  came,  the  term  assigned  by  Lucy  herself  as 
the  furthest  date  of  expectation,  and,  as  we  have  already 
said,  there  were  neither  letters  from  nor  news  of  Ravens- 
wood.  But  there  were  news  of  Bucklaw,  and  of  his  trusty  asso¬ 
ciate  Craigengelt,  who  arrived  early  in  the  morning  for  the 
completion  of  the  proposed  espousals,  and  for  signing  the 
necessary  deeds. 

These  had  been  carefully  prepared  under  the  revisal  of  Sir 
William  Ashton  himself,  it  having  been  resolved,  on  account  of 
the  state  of  Miss  Ashton’s  health,  as  it  was  said,  that  none 
save  the  parties  immediately  interested  should  be  present 
when  the  parchments  were  subscribed.  It  was  further  deter¬ 
mined  that  the  marriage  should  be  solemnised  upon  the  fourth 
day  after  signing  the  articles,  a  measure  adopted  by  Lady 
Ashton,  in  order  that  Lucy  might  have  as  little  time  as  possible 
to  recede  or  relapse  into  intractability.  There  was  no  appear¬ 
ance,  however,  of  her  doing  either.  She  heard  the  proposed 
arrangement  with  the  calm  indifference  of  despair,  or  rather 
with  an  apathy  arising  from  the  oppressed  and  stupified  state 
of  her  feelings.  To  an  eye  so  unobserving  as  that  of  Bucklaw, 
her  demeanour  had  little  more  of  reluctance  than  might  suit 
the  character  of  a  bashful  young  lady,  who,  however,  he  could 
not  disguise  from  himself,  was  complying  with  the  choice  of 
her  friends  rather  than  exercising  any  personal  predilection  in 
his  favour. 

When  the  morning  compliments  of  the  bridegroom  had  been 
paid,  Miss  Ashton  was  left  for  some  time  to  herself ;  her  mother 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  285 

remarking,  that  the  deeds  must  be  signed  before  the  hour  of 
noon,  in  order  that  the  marriage  might  be  happy. 

Lucy  suffered  herself  to  be  attired  for  the  occasion  as  the 
taste  of  her  attendants  suggested,  and  was  of  course  splendidly 
arrayed.  Her  dress  was  composed  of  white  satin  and  Brussels 
lace,  and  her  hair  arranged  with  a  profusion  of  jewels,  whose 
lustre  made  a  strange  contrast  to  the  deadly  paleness  of  her 
complexion,  and  to  the  trouble  which  dwelt  in  her  unsettled 
eye. 

Her  toilette  was  hardly  finished  ere  Henry  appeared,  to  con¬ 
duct  the  passive  bride  to  the  state  apartment,  where  all  was 
prepared  for  signing  the  contract.  ‘Do  you  know,  sister,’  he 
said,  ‘  I  am  glad  you  are  to  have  Bucklaw  after  all,  instead  of 
Ravenswood,  who  looked  like  a  Spanish  grandee  come  to  cut 
our  throats  and  trample  our  bodies  under  foot.  And  I  am 
glad  the  broad  seas  are  between  us  this  day,  for  I  shall  never 
forget  how  frightened  I  was  when  I  took  him  for  the  picture 
of  old  Sir  Malise  walked  out  of  the  canvas.  Tell  me  true,  are 
you  not  glad  to  be  fairly  shot  of  him  1  ’ 

#  ‘Ask  me  no  questions,  dear  Henry,’  said  his  unfortunate 
sister ;  ‘  there  is  little  more  can  happen  to  make  me  either  glad 
or  sorry  in  this  world.’ 

‘And  that’s  what  all  young  brides  say,’  said  Henry;  ‘and 
so  do  not  be  cast  down,  Lucy,  for  you  ’ll  tell  another  tale  a 
twelvemonth  hence;  and  I  am  to  be  bride’s-man,  and  ride 
before  you  to  the  kirk ;  and  all  our  kith,  kin,  and  allies,  and  all 
Bucklaw’ s,  are  to  be  mounted  and  in  order ;  and  I  am  to  have 
a  scarlet  laced  coat,  and  a  feathered  hat,  and  a  sword-belt, 
double  bordered  with  gold,  and  point  d'Espagne,  and  a  dagger 
instead  of  a  sword ;  and  I  should  like  a  sword  much  better,  but 
my  father  won’t  hear  of  it.  All  my  things,  and  a  hundred 
besides,  are  to  come  out  from  Edinburgh  to-night  with  old 
Gilbert  and  the  sumpter  mules ;  and  I  will  bring  them  and 
show  them  to  you  the  instant  they  come.’ 

The  boy’s  chatter  was  here  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Lady 
Ashton,  somewhat  alarmed  at  her  daughter’s  stay.  With  one 
of  her  sweetest  smiles,  she  toolq;Lucy’s  arm  under  her  own,  and 
led  her  to  the  apartment  where  her  presence  was  expected. 

There  were  only  present,  Sir  William  Ashton  and  Colonel 
Douglas  Ashton,  the  last  in  full  regimentals ;  Bucklaw,  in 
bridegroom  trim ;  Craigengelt,  freshly  equipt  from  top  to  toe 
by  the  bounty  of  his  patron,  and  bedizened  with  as  much  lace 
as  might  have  become  the  dress  of  the  Copper  Captain ;  together 


286 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent ;  the  presence  of  a  minister 
being,  in  strict  Presbyterian  families,  an  indispensable  requisite 
upon  all  occasions  of  unusual  solemnity. 

Wines  and  refreshments  were  placed  on  a  table,  on  which 
the  writings  were  displayed,  ready  for  signature. 

But  before  proceeding  either  to  business  or  refreshment,  Mr. 
Bide-the-Bent,  at  a  signal  from  Sir  William  Ashton,  invited  the 
company  to  join  him  in  a  short  extemporary  prayer,  in  which 
he  implored  a  blessing  upon  the  contract  now  to  be  solemnised 
between  the  honourable  parties  then  present.  With  the  sim¬ 
plicity  of  his  times  and  profession,  which  permitted  strong 
personal  allusions,  he  petitioned  that  the  wounded  mind  of  one 
of  these  noble  parties  might  be  healed,  in  reward  of  her  compli¬ 
ance  with  the  advice  of  her  right  honourable  parents ;  and 
that,  as  she  had  proved  herself  a  child  after  God’s  command¬ 
ment,  by  honouring  her  father  and  mother,  she  and  hers  might 
enjoy  the  promised  blessing  —  length  of  days  in  the  land  here, 
and  a  happy  portion  hereafter  in  a  better  country.  He  prayed 
farther,  that  the  bridegroom  might  be  weaned  from  those  follies 
which  seduce  youth  from  the  path  of  knowledge  ;  that  he  might 
cease  to  take  delight  in  vain  and  unprofitable  company,  scoffers, 
rioters,  and  those  who  sit  late  at  the  wine  (here  Bucklaw  winked 
to  Craigengelt),  and  cease  from  the  society  that  causeth  to  err. 
A  suitable  supplication  in  behalf  of  Sir  William  and  Lady  Ashton 
and  their  family  concluded  this  religious  address,  which  thus  em¬ 
braced  every  individual  present  excepting  Craigengelt,  whom  the 
worthy  divine  probably  considered  as  past  all  hopes  of  grace. 

The  business  of  the  day  now  went  forward  :  Sir  William 
Ashton  signed  the  contract  with  legal  solemnity  and  precision ; 
his  son,  with  military  nonchalance  ;  and  Bucklaw,  having  sub¬ 
scribed  as  rapidly  as  Craigengelt  could  manage  to  turn  the 
leaves,  concluded  by  wiping  his  pen  on  that  worthy’s  new  laced 
cravat. 

It  was  now  Miss  Ashton’s  turn  to  sign  the  writings,  and  she 
was  guided  by  her  watchful  mother  to  the  table  for  that  purpose. 
At  her  first  attempt,  she  began  to  write  with  a  dry  pen,  and 
when  the  circumstance  was  pointed  out,  seemed  unable,  after 
several  attempts,  to  dip  it  in  the  massive  silver  ink-standish, 
which  stood  full  before  her.  Lady  Ashton’s  vigilance  hastened 
to  supply  the  deficiency.  I  have  myself  seen  the  fatal  deed,  and 
in  the  distinct  characters  in  which  the  name  of  Lucy  Ashton 
is  traced  on  each  page  there  is  only  a  very  slight  tremulous 
irregularity,  indicative  of  her  state  of  mind  at  the  time  of  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


287 


subscription.  But  the  last  signature  is  incomplete,  defaced,  and 
blotted ;  for,  while  her  hand  was  employed  in  tracing  it,  the 
hasty  tramp  of  a  horse  was  heard  at  the  gate,  succeeded  by  a 
step  in  the  outer  gallery,  and  a  voice  which,  in  a  commanding 
tone,  bore  down  the  opposition  of  the  menials.  The  pen 
dropped  from  Lucy’s  fingers,  as  she  exclaimed  with  a  faint 
shriek  — ‘  He  is  come  —  he  is  come !  * 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


This  by  his  tongue  should  be  a  Montague  ! 

Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy  ; 

Now,  by  the  faith  and  honour  of  my  kin, 

To  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 


HAKDLY  had  Miss  Ashton  dropped  the  pen,  when  the 
door  of  the  apartment  flew  open,  and  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  entered  the  apartment. 

Lockhard  and  another  domestic,  who  had  in  vain  attempted 
to  oppose  his  passage  through  the  gallery  or  antechamber,  were 
seen  standing  on  the  threshold  transfixed  with  surprise,  which 
was  instantly  communicated  to  the  whole  party  in  the  state¬ 
room.  That  of  Colonel  Douglas  Ashton  was  mingled  wflth 
resentment ;  that  of  Bucklaw  with  haughty  and  affected  indif¬ 
ference  ;  the  rest,  even  Lady  Ashton  herself,  showed  signs  of 
fear ;  and  Lucy  seemed  stiffened  to  stone  by  this  unexpected  ap¬ 
parition.  Apparition  it  might  well  be  termed,  for  Ravenswood 
had  more  the  appearance  of  one  returned  from  the  dead  than 
of  a  living  visitor. 

He  planted  himself  full  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment, 
opposite  to  the  table  at  which  Lucy  was  seated,  on  wThom,  as 
if  she  had  been  alone  in  the  chamber,  he  bent  his  eyes  with  a 
mingled  expression  of  deep  grief  and  deliberate  indignation. 
His  dark-coloured  riding  cloak,  displaced  from  one  shoulder, 
hung  around  one  side  of  his  person  in  the  ample  folds  of  the 
Spanish  mantle.  The  rest  of  his  rich  dress  was  travel-soiled, 
and  deranged  by  hard  riding.  He  had  a  sword  by  his  side,  and 
pistols  in  his  belt.  His  slouched  hat,  which  he  had  not  removed 
at  entrance,  gave  an  additional  gloom  to  his  dark  features, 
which,  wasted  by  sorrow  and  marked  by  the  ghastly  look  com¬ 
municated  by  long  illness,  added  to  a  countenance  naturally 
somewhat  stern  and  wild  a  fierce  and  even  savage  expression. 
The  matted  and  dishevelled  locks  of  hair  which  escaped  from 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


289 


under  his  hat,  together  with  his  fixed  and  unmoved  posture, 
made  his  head  more  resemble  that  of  a  marble  bust  than  that 
of  a  living  man.  He  said  not  a  single  word,  and  there  was  a 
deep  silence  in  the  company  for  more  than  two  minutes. 

It  was  broken  by  Lady  Ashton,  who  in  that  space  partly 
recovered  her  natural  audacity.  She  demanded  to  know  the 
cause  of  this  unauthorised  intrusion. 

‘  That  is  a  question,  madam/  said  her  son,  ‘  which  I  have 
the  best  right  to  ask ;  and  I  must  request  of  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  to  follow  me  where  he  can  answer  it  at  leisure.’ 

Bucklaw  interposed,  saying,  c  No  man  on  earth  should  usurp 
his  previous  right  in  demanding  an  explanation  from  the  Master. 
Craigengelt/  he  added,  in  an  undertone,  £d — n  ye,  why  do  you 
stand  staring  as  if  you  saw  a  ghost  1  fetch  me  my  sword  from 
the  gallery.’ 

‘I  will  relinquish  to  none,’  said  Colonel  Ashton,  £my  right 
of  calling  to  account  the  man  who  has  offered  this  unparalleled 
affront  to  my  family.’ 

£  Be  patient,  gentlemen,’  said  Ravenswood,  turning  sternly 
towards  them,  and  waving  his  hand  as  if  to  impose  silence  on 
their  altercation.  £  If  you  are  as  weary  of  your  lives  as  I  am, 
I  will  find  time  and  place  to  pledge  mine  against  one  or  both ; 
at  present,  I  have  no  leisure  for  the  disputes  of  triflers.’ 

£  Triflers  !  ’  echoed  Colonel  Ashton,  half  unsheathing  his 
sword,  while  Bucklaw  laid  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  that  which 
Craigengelt  had  just  reached  him. 

Sir  William  Ashton,  alarmed  for  his  son’s  safety,  rushed 
between  the  young  men  and  Ravenswood,  exclaiming,  £  My  son, 
I  command  you  —  Bucklaw,  I  entreat  you  —  keep  the  peace,  in 
the  name  of  the  Queen  and  of  the  law  !  ’ 

£  In  the  name  of  the  law  of  God,’  said  Bide-the-Bent,  advancing 
also  with  uplifted  hands  between  Bucklaw,  the  Colonel,  and  the 
object  of  their  resentment — £  in  the  name  of  Him  who  brought 
peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  mankind,  I  emplore  —  I  beseech 
—  I  command  you  to  forbear  violence  towards  each  other ! 
God  hateth  the  bloodthirsty  man  ;  he  who  striketh  with  the 
sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword.’ 

£  Do  you  take  me  for  a  dog,  sir,’  said  Colonel  Ashton,  turning 
fiercely  upon  him,  £  or  something  more  brutally  stupid,  to 
endure  this  insult  in  my  father’s  house  ?  Let  me  go,  Bucklaw  ! 
He  shall  account  to  me,  or,  by  Heaven,  I  will  stab  him  where 
he  stands !  ’ 

‘You  shall  not  touch  him  here,’  said  Bucklaw;  ‘he  once 

VOL.  VIII  — 19 


290 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


gave  me  my  life,  and  were  he  the  devil  come  to  fly  away  with 
the  whole  house  and  generation,  he  shall  have  nothing  but  fair 
play.’ 

The  passions  of  the  two  young  men  thus  counteracting  each 
other  gave  Ravenswood  leisure  to  exclaim,  in  a  stern  and 
steady  voice,  ‘  Silence  !  —  let  him  who  really  seeks  danger  take 
the  fitting  time  when  it  is  to  be  found  ;  my  mission  here  will 
be  shortly  accomplished.  Is  that  your  handwriting,  madam  %  * 
he  added  in  a  softer  tone,  extending  towards  Miss  Ashton  her 
last  letter. 

A  faltering  ‘  Yes  ’  seemed  rather  to  escape  from  her  lips  than 
to  be  uttered  as  a  voluntary  answer. 

‘  And  is  this  also  your  handwriting  ? ’  extending  towards  her 
the  mutual  engagement. 

Lucy  remained  silent.  Terror,  and  a  yet  stronger  and  more 
confused  feeling,  so  utterly  disturbed  her  understanding  that 
she  probably  scarcely  comprehended  the  question  that  was  put 
to  her. 

‘  If  you  design,’  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  ‘  to  found  any  legal 
claim  on  that  paper,  sir,  do  not  expect  to  receive  any  answer  to 
an  extrajudicial  question.’ 

‘  Sir  William  Ashton,’  said  Ravenswood,  ‘  I  pray  you,  and  all 
who  hear  me,  that  you  will  not  mistake  my  purpose.  If  this 
young  lady,  of  her  own  free  will,  desires  the  restoration  of  this 
contract,  as  her  letter  would  seem  to  imply,  there  is  not  a 
withered  leaf  which  this  autumn  wind  strews  on  the  heath 
that  is  more  valueless  in  my  eyes.  But  I  must  and  will  hear 
the  truth  from  her  own  mouth  ;  without  this  satisfaction  I  will 
not  leave  this  spot.  Murder  me  by  numbers  you  possibly  may  ; 
but  I  am  an  armed  man  —  I  am  a  desperate  man,  and  I  will 
not  die  without  ample  vengeance.  This  is  my  resolution,  take  it 
as  you  may.  I  will  hear  her  determination  from  her  own 
mouth ;  from  her  own  mouth,  alone,  and  without  witnesses,  will 
I  hear  it.  Now,  choose,’  he  said,  drawing  his  sword  with  the 
right  hand,  and,  with  the  left,  by  the  same  motion  taking  a 
pistol  from  his  belt  and  cocking  it,  but  turning  the  point  of  one 
weapon  and  the  muzzle  of  the  other  to  the  ground  — ‘  choose  if 
you  will  have  this  hall  floated  with  blood,  or  if  you  will  grant 
me  the  decisive  interview  with  my  affianced  bride  which  the 
laws  of  God  and  the  country  alike  entitle  me  to  demand.’ 

All  recoiled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  the  determined 
action  by  which  it  was  accompanied ;  for  the  ecstasy  of  real 
desperation  seldom  fails  to  overpower  the  less  energetic  passions 


Now  choose,’  said  fiavenswood,  drawing  his  sword.” 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


291 


by  which  it  may  be  opposed.  The  clergyman  was  the  first  to 
speak.  ‘In  the  name  of  God/  he  said,  ‘receive  an  overture  of 
peace  from  the  meanest  of  His  servants.  What  this  honourable 
person  demands,  albeit  it  is  urged  with  over  violence,  hath  yet 
in  it  something  of  reason.  Let  him  hear  from  Miss  Lucy’s  own 
lips  that  she  hath  dutifully  acceded  to  the  will  of  her  parents, 
and  repenteth  her  of  her  covenant  with  him ;  and  when  he  is 
assured  of  this  he  will  depart  in  peace  unto  his  own  dwelling, 
and  cumber  us  no  more.  Alas !  the  workings  of  the  ancient 
Adam  are  strong  even  in  the  regenerate ;  surely  we  should  have 
long-suffering  with  those  who,  being  yet  in  the  gall  of  bitterness 
and  bond  of  iniquity,  are  swept  forward  by  the  uncontrollable 
current  of  worldly  passion.  Let,  then,  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  have  the  interview  on  which  he  insisteth ;  it  can  but  be 
as  a  passing  pang  to  this  honourable  maiden,  since  her  faith  is 
now  irrevocably  pledged  to  the  choice  of  her  parents.  Let  it, 
I  say,  be  thus  :  it  belongeth  to  my  functions  to  entreat  your 
honours’  compliance  with  this  healing  overture.’ 

‘  Never  !  ’  answered  Lady  Ashton,  whose  rage  had  now  over¬ 
come  her  first  surprise  and  terror  —  ‘  never  shall  this  man  speak 
in  private  with  my  daughter,  the  afhanced  bride  of  another ! 
Pass  from  this  room  who  will,  I  remain  here.  I  fear  neither 
his  violence  nor  his  weapons,  though  some,’  she  said,  glancing 
a  look  towards  Colonel  Ashton,  ‘who  bear  my  name  appear 
more  moved  by  them.’ 

‘For  God’s  sake,  madam,’  answered  the  worthy  divine,  ‘add 
not  fuel  to  firebrands.  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  cannot,  I 
am  sure,  object  to  your  presence,  the  young  lady’s  state  of 
health  being  considered,  and  your  maternal  duty.  I  myself 
will  also  tarry ;  peradventure  my  grey  hairs  may  turn  away 
wrath.  ’ 

‘You  are  welcome  to  do  so,  sir,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘and 
Lady  Ashton  is  also  welcome  to  remain,  if  she  shall  think 
proper ;  but  let  all  others  depart.’ 

‘Ravenswood,’  said  Colonel  Ashton,  crossing  him  as  he  went 
out,  ‘  you  shall  account  for  this  ere  long.  ’ 

‘When  you  please,’  replied  Ravenswood. 

‘But  1/  said  Bucklaw,  with  a  half  smile,  ‘have  a  prior 
demand  on  your  leisure,  a  claim  of  some  standing.’ 

‘Arrange  it  as  you  will,’  said  Ravenswood;  ‘leave  me  but 
this  day  in  peace,  and  I  will  have  no  dearer  employment  on 
earth  to-morrow  than  to  give  you  all  the  satisfaction  you  can 
desire.’ 


292 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


The  other  gentlemen  left  the  apartment;  but  Sir  William 
Ashton  lingered. 

‘Master  of  Ravenswood,’  he  said,  in  a  conciliating  tone,  ‘I 
think  I  have  not  deserved  that  you  should  make  this  scandal 
and  outrage  in  my  family.  If  you  will  sheathe  your  sword, 
and  retire  with  me  into  my  study,  I  will  prove  to  you,  by  the 
most  satisfactory  arguments,  the  inutility  of  your  present 
irregular  procedure - ’ 

‘  To-morrow,  sir  —  to-morrow  —  to-morrow,  I  will  hear  you 
at  length/  reiterated  Ravenswood,  interrupting  him  ;  ‘this  day 
hath  its  own  sacred  and  indispensable  business.’ 

He  pointed  to  the  door,  and  Sir  William  left  the  apartment. 

Ravenswood  sheathed  his  sword,  uncocked  and  returned  his 
pistol  to  his  belt ;  walked  deliberately  to  the  door  of  the  apart¬ 
ment,  which  he  bolted ;  returned,  raised  his  hat  from  his  fore¬ 
head,  and,  gazing  upon  Lucy  with  eyes  in  which  an  expression 
of  sorrow  overcame  their  late  fierceness,  spread  his  dishevelled 
locks  back  from  his  face,  and  said,  ‘Do  you  know  me,  Miss 
Ashton1?  I  am  still  Edgar  Ravenswood.’  She  was  silent,  and 
he  went  on  with  increasing  vehemence  —  ‘  I  am  still  that  Edgar 
Ravenswood  who,  for  your  affection,  renounced  the  dear  ties 
by  which  injured  honour  bound  him  to  seek  vengeance.  I  am 
that  Ravenswood  who,  for  your  sake,  forgave,  nay,  clasped  hands 
in  friendship  with,  the  oppressor  and  pillager  of  his  house,  the 
traducer  and  murderer  of  his  father.’ 

‘My  daughter/  answered  Lady  Ashton,  interrupting  him, 
‘has  no  occasion  to  dispute  the  identity  of  your  person;  the 
venom  of  your  present  language  is  sufficient  to  remind  her  that 
she  speaks  with  the  mortal  enemy  of  her  father.’ 

‘I  pray  you  to  be  patient,  madam,’  answered  Ravenswood; 
‘  my  answer  must  come  from  her  own  lips.  Once  more,  Miss 
Lucy  Ashton,  I  am  that  Ravenswood  to  whom  you  granted  the 
solemn  engagement  which  you  now  desire  to  retract  and 
cancel.’ 

Lucy’s  bloodless  lips  could  only  falter  out  the  words,  ‘  It  was 
my  mother.’ 

‘  She  speaks  truly/  said  Lady  Ashton,  ‘  it  was  I  who,  author¬ 
ised  alike  by  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  advised  her,  and  concurred 
with  her,  to  set  aside  an  unhappy  and  precipitate  engagement, 
and  to  annul  it  by  the  authority  of  Scripture  itself.’ 

‘  Scripture  !  ’  said  Ravenswood,  scornfully. 

‘Let  him  hear  the  text,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  appealing  to 
the  divine,  ‘on  which  you  yourself,  with  cautious  reluctance, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  293 

declared  the  nullity  of  the  pretended  engagement  insisted  upon 
by  this  violent  man.5 

The  clergyman  took  his  clasped  Bible  from  his  pocket,  and 
read  the  following  words  :  ‘  If  a  woman  vow  a  vow  unto  the 
Lord,  and  hind  herself  by  a  bond,  being  in  her  father’s  house 
in  her  youth,  and  her  father  hear  her  vow,  and  her  bond 
wherewith  she  hath  bound  her  soul,  and  her  father  shall  hold 
his  peace  at  her ;  then  all  her  vows  shall  stand,  and  every  vow 
wherewith  she  hath  bound  her  soul  shall  stand.’ 

‘  And  was  it  not  even  so  with  us  ?  ’  interrupted  Bavenswood. 

‘  Control  thy  impatience,  young  man,’  answered  the  divine, 

‘  and  hear  what  follows  in  the  sacred  text :  —  “But  if  her  father 
disallow  her  in  the  day  that  he  heareth,  not  any  of  her  vows, 
or  of  her  bonds  wherewith  she  hath  bound  her  soul,  shall  stand ; 
and  the  Lord  shall  forgive  her,  because  her  father  disallowed 
her.’” 

‘And  was  not,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  fiercely  and  triumphantly 
breaking  in  —  ‘  was  not  ours  the  case  stated  in  the  Holy  Writ  ? 
Will  this  person  deny,  that  the  instant  her  parents  heard  of 
the  vow,  or  bond,  by  which  our  daughter  had  bound  her  soul, 
we  disallowed  the  same  in  the  most  express  terms,  and  informed 
him  by  writing  of  our  determination  1  ’ 

‘  And  is  this  all  ?  ’  said  Bavenswood,  looking  at  Lucy.  ‘  Are 
you  willing  to  barter  sworn  faith,  the  exercise  of  free  will,  and 
the  feelings  of  mutual  affection  to  this  wretched  hypocritical 
sophistry  1  ’ 

‘  Hear  him  !  ’  said  Lady  Ashton,  looking  to  the  clergyman  — 
‘  hear  the  blasphemer  !  ’ 

‘May  God  forgive  him,’  said  Bide-the-Bent,  ‘and  enlighten 
his  ignorance !  ’ 

‘  Hear  what  I  have  sacrificed  for  you,’  said  Bavenswood,  still 
addressing  Lucy,  ‘  ere  you  sanction  what  has  been  done  in  your 
name.  The  honour  of  an  ancient  family,  the  urgent  advice  of 
my  best  friends,  have  been  in  vain  used  to  sway  my  resolution ; 
neither  the  arguments  of  reason  nor  the  portents  of  superstition 
have  shaken  my  fidelity.  The  very  dead  have  arisen  to  warn 
me,  and  their  warning  has  been  despised.  Are  you  prepared 
to  pierce  my  heart  for  its  fidelity  with  the  very  weapon  which 
my  rash  confidence  entrusted  to  your  grasp  ?  ’ 

‘Master  of  Bavenswood,’  said  Lady  Ashton,  ‘you  have  asked 
what  questions  you  thought  fit.  You  see  the  total  incapacity 
of  my  daughter  to  answer  you.  But  I  will  reply  for  her,  and 
in  a  manner  which  you  cannot  dispute.  You  desire  to  know 


294 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


whether  Lucy  Ashton,  of  her  own  free  will,  desires  to  annul  the 
engagement  into  which  she  has  been  trepanned.  You  have  her 
letter  under  her  own  hand,  demanding  the  surrender  of  it ; 
and,  in  yet  more  full  evidence  of  her  purpose,  here  is  the  con¬ 
tract  which  she  has  this  morning  subscribed,  in  presence  of  this 
reverend  gentleman,  with  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw.’ 

Ravenswood  gazed  upon  the  deed  as  if  petrified.  ‘And  it 
was  without  fraud  or  compulsion,’  said  he,  looking  towards  the 
clergyman,  ‘  that  Miss  Ashton  subscribed  this  parchment  ?  ’ 

‘  I  vouch  it  upon  my  sacred  character.’ 

‘This  is  indeed,  madam,  an  undeniable  piece  of  evidence,’ 
said  Ravenswood,  sternly ;  ‘  and  it  will  be  equally  unnecessary 
and  dishonourable  to  waste  another  word  in  useless  remonstrance 
or  reproach.  There,  madam,’  he  said,  laying  down  before  Lucy 
the  signed  paper  and  the  broken  piece  of  gold  —  ‘  there  are  the 
evidences  of  your  first  engagement ;  may  you  be  more  faithful 
to  that  which  you  have  just  formed.  I  will  trouble  you  to 
return  the  corresponding  tokens  of  my  ill-placed  confidence ; 
I  ought  rather  to  say,  of  my  egregious  folly.’ 

Lucy  returned  the  scornful  glance  of  her  lover  with  a  gaze 
from  which  perception  seemed  to  have  been  banished ;  yet  she 
seemed  partly  to  have  understood  his  meaning,  for  she  raised 
her  hands  as  if  to  undo  a  blue  ribbon  which  she  wore  around 
her  neck.  She  was  unable  to  accomplish  her  purpose,  but  Lady 
Ashton  cut  the  ribbon  asunder,  and  detached  the  broken  piece 
of  gold,  which  Miss  Ashton  had  till  then  worn  concealed  in  her 
bosom ;  the  written  counterpart  of  the  lovers’  engagement  she 
for  some  time  had  had  in  her  own  possession.  With  a  haughty 
courtesy,  she  delivered  both  to  Ravenswood,  who  was  much 
softened  when  he  took  the  piece  of  gold. 

‘And  she  could  wear  it  thus,’  he  said,  speaking  to  himself — 
‘  could  wear  it  in  her  very  bosom  —  could  wear  it  next  to  her  heart 

—  even  when - But  complaint  avails  not,’  he  said,  dashing 

from  his  eye  the  tear  which  had  gathered  in  it,  and  resuming 
the  stern  composure  of  his  manner.  He  strode  to  the  chimney, 
and  threw  into  the  fire  the  paper  and  piece  of  gold,  stamping 
upon  the  coals  with  the  heel  of  his  boot,  as  if  to  ensure  their 
destruction.  ‘I  will  be  no  longer,’  he  then  said,  ‘an  intruder 
here.  Your  evil  wishes,  and  your  worse  offices,  Lady  Ashton,  I 
will  only  return  by  hoping  these  will  be  your  last  machinations 
against  your  daughter’s  honour  and  happiness.  And  to  you, 
madam,’  he  said,  addressing  Lucy,  ‘I  have  nothing  farther  to 
say,  except  to  pray  to  God  that  you  may  not  become  a  world’s 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


295 


wonder  for  this  act  of  wilful  and  deliberate  perjury.’  Having  ut¬ 
tered  those  words,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  apartment. 

Sir  William  Ashton,  by  entreaty  and  authority,  had  detained 
his  son  and  Bucklaw  in  a  distant  part  of  the  castle,  in  order  to 
prevent  their  again  meeting  with  Ravenswood;  but  as  the 
Master  descended  the  great  staircase,  Lockhard  delivered  him 
a  billet  signed  ‘Sholto  Douglas  Ashton,’  requesting  to  know 
where  the  Master  of  Ravens  wood  would  be  heard  of  four  or  five 
days  from  hence,  as  the  writer  had  business  of  weight  to  settle 
with  him,  so  soon  as  an  important  family  event  had  taken  place. 

‘Tell  Colonel  Ashton,’  said  Ravenswood,  composedly,  ‘I  shall 
be  found  at  Wolf’s  Crag  when  his  leisure  serves  him.’ 

As  he  descended  the  outward  stair  which  led  from  the 
terrace,  he  was  interrupted  a  second  time  by  Craigengelt,  who, 
on  the  part  of  his  principal,  the  Laird  of  Bucklaw,  expressed  a 
hope  that  Ravenswood  would  not  leave  Scotland  within  ten 
days  at  least,  as  he  had  both  former  and  recent  civilities  for 
which  to  express  his  gratitude. 

‘  Tell  your  master,’  said  Ravenswood,  fiercely,  ‘to  choose  his 
own  time.  He  will  find  me  at  Wolfs  Crag,  if  his  purpose  is 
not  forestalled.’ 

‘  My  master !  ’  replied  Craigengelt,  encouraged  by  seeing 
Colonel  Ashton  and  Bucklaw  at  the  bottom  of  the  terrace. 
‘  Give  me  leave  to  say  I  know  of  no  such  person  upon  earth, 
nor  will  I  permit  such  language  to  be  used  to  me  !  ’ 

‘  Seek  your  master,  then,  in  hell !  ’  exclaimed  Ravenswood, 
giving  way  to  the  passion  he  had  hitherto  restrained,  and 
throwing  Craigengelt  from  him  with  such  violence  that  he 
rolled  down  the  steps  and  lay  senseless  at  the  foot  of  them. 
‘I  am  a  fool,’  he  instantly  added,  ‘ to  vent  my  passion  upon  a 
caitiff  so  worthless.’ 

He  then  mounted  his  horse,  which  at  his  arrival  he  had 
secured  to  a  balustrade  in  front  of  the  castle,  rode  very  slowly 
past  Bucklaw  and  Colonel  Ashton,  raising  his  hat  as  he  passed 
each,  and  looking  in  their  faces  steadily  while  he  offered  this 
mute  salutation,  which  was  returned  by  both  with  the  same 
stern  gravity.  Ravenswood  walked  on  with  equal  deliberation 
until  he  reached  the  head  of  the  avenue,  as  if  to  show  that  he 
rather  courted  than  avoided  interruption.  When  he  had  passed 
the  upper  gate,  he  turned  his  horse,  and  looked  at  the  castle 
with  a  fixed  eye  ;  then  set  spurs  to  his  good  steed,  and  departed 
with  the  speed  of  a  demon  dismissed  by  the  exorcist. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


Who  comes  from  the  bridal  chamber  ? 

It  is  Azrael,  the  angel  of  death. 

Thai  aba. 


A  FTER  the  dreadful  scene  that  had  taken  place  at  the 
A-\  castle,  Lucy  was  transported  to  her  own  chamber, 
where  she  remained  for  some  time  in  a  state  of  abso¬ 
lute  stupor.  Yet  afterwards,  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  day, 
she  seemed  to  have  recovered,  not  merely  her  spirits  and  reso¬ 
lution,  but  a  sort  of  flighty  levity,  that  was  foreign  to  her  char¬ 
acter  and  situation,  and  which  was  at  times  chequered  by  fits 
of  deep  silence  and  melancholy,  and  of  capricious  pettishness. 
Lady  Ashton  became  much  alarmed,  and  consulted  the  family 
physicians.  But  as  her  pulse  indicated  no  change,  they  could 
only  say  that  the  disease  was  on  the  spirits,  and  recommended 
gentle  exercise  and  amusement.  Miss  Ashton  never  alluded  to 
what  had  passed  in  the  state-room.  It  seemed  doubtful  even  if 
she  was  conscious  of  it,  for  she  was  often  observed  to  raise  her 
hands  to  her  neck,  as  if  in  search  of  the  ribbon  that  had  been 
taken  from  it,  and  mutter,  in  surprise  and  discontent,  when  she 
could  not  find  it,  ‘  It  was  the  link  that  bound  me  to  life.' 

Notwithstanding  all  these  remarkable  symptoms,  Lady  Ashton 
was  too  deeply  pledged  to  delay  her  daughter’s  marriage  even 
in  her  present  state  of  health.  It  cost  her  much  trouble  to 
keep  up  the  fair  side  of  appearances  towards  Bucklaw.  She 
was  well  aware,  that  if  he  once  saw  any  reluctance  on  her 
daughter’s  part,  he  would  break  off  the  treaty,  to  her  great 
personal  shame  and  dishonour.  She  therefore  resolved  that, 
if  Lucy  continued  passive,  the  marriage  should  take  place  upon 
the  day  that  had  been  previously  fixed,  trusting  that  a  change 
of  place,  of  situation,  and  of  character  would  operate  a  more 
speedy  and  effectual  cure  upon  the  unsettled  spirits  of  her 
daughter  than  could  be  attained  by  the  slow  measures  which 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


297 


the  medical  men  recommended.  Sir  William  Ashton’s  views  of 
family  aggrandisement,  and  his  desire  to  strengthen  himself 

against  the  measures  of  the  Marquis  of  A - ,  readily  induced 

him  to  acquiesce  in  what  he  could  not  have  perhaps  resisted  if 
willing  to  do  so.  As  for  the  young  men,  Bucklaw  and  Colonel 
Ashton,  they  protested  that,  after  what  had  happened,  it  would 
be  most  dishonourable  to  postpone  for  a  single  hour  the  time 
appointed  for  the  marriage,  as  it  would  be  generally  ascribed 
to  their  being  intimidated  by  the  intrusive  visit  and  threats  of 
Ravenswood. 

Bucklaw  would  indeed  have  been  incapable  of  such  precipita¬ 
tion,  had  he  been  aware  of  the  state  of  Miss  Ashton’s  health,  or 
rather  of  her  mind.  But  custom,  upon  these  occasions,  per¬ 
mitted  only  brief  and  sparing  intercourse  between  the  bride¬ 
groom  and  the  betrothed ;  a  circumstance  so  well  improved  by 
Lady  Ashton,  that  Bucklaw  neither  saw  nor  suspected  the  real 
state  of  the  health  and  feelings  of  his  unhappy  bride. 

On  the  eve  of  the  bridal  day  Lucy  appeared  to  have  one  of 
her  fits  of  levity,  and  surveyed  with  a  degree  of  girlish  interest 
the  various  preparations  of  dress,  etc.  etc.,  which  the  different 
members  of  the  family  had  prepared  for  the  occasion. 

The  morning  dawned  bright  and  cheerily.  The  bridal  guests 
assembled  in  gallant  troops  from  distant  quarters.  Not  only 
the  relations  of  Sir  William  Ashton,  and  the  still  more  dig¬ 
nified  connexions  of  his  lady,  together  with  the  numerous 
kinsmen  and  allies  of  the  bridegroom,  were  present  upon  this 
joyful  ceremony,  gallantly  mounted,  arrayed,  and  caparisoned, 
but  almost  every  Presbyterian  family  of  distinction  within  fifty 
miles  made  a  point  of  attendance  upon  an  occasion  which  was 
considered  as  giving  a  sort  of  triumph  over  the  Marquis  of 

A - ,  in  the  person  of  his  kinsman.  Splendid  refreshments 

awaited  the  guests  on  their  arrival,  and  after  these  were  finished, 
the  cry  was  ‘To  horse.’  The  bride  was  led  forth  betwixt  her 
brother  Henry  and  her  mother.  Her  gaiety  of  the  preceding 
day  had  given  rise  to  a  deep  shade  of  melancholy,  which,  how¬ 
ever,  did  not  misbecome  an  occasion  so  momentous.  There 
was  a  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  colour  in  her  cheek  which  had 
not  been  kindled  for  many  a  day,  and  which,  joined  to  her 
great  beauty,  and  the  splendour  of  her  dress,  occasioned  her 
entrance  to  be  greeted  with  a  universal  murmur  of  applause, 
in  which  even  the  ladies  could  not  refrain  from  joining.  While 
the  cavalcade  were  getting  to  horse,  Sir  William  Ashton,  a 
man  of  peace  and  of  form,  censured  his  son  Henry  for  having 


298 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


begirt  himself  with  a  military  sword  of  preposterous  length, 
belonging  to  his  brother,  Colonel  Ashton. 

4 If  you  must  have  a  weapon,’  he  said,  ‘upon  such  a  peaceful 
occasion,  why  did  you  not  use  the  short  poniard  sent  from 
Edinburgh  on  purpose  1  ’ 

The  boy  vindicated  himself  by  saying  it  was  lost. 

‘You  put  it  out  of  the  way  yourself,  I  suppose,’  said  his 
father,  ‘out  of  ambition  to  wear  that  preposterous  thing,  which 
might  have  served  Sir  William  Wallace.  But  never  mind,  get 
to  horse  now,  and  take  care  of  your  sister.’ 

The  boy  did  so,  and  was  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  gallant 
train.  At  the  time,  he  was  too  full  of  his  own  appearance,  his 
sword,  his  laced  cloak,  his  feathered  hat,  and  his  managed 
horse,  to  pay  much  regard  to  anything  else ;  but  he  after¬ 
wards  remembered  to  the  hour  of  his  death,  that  when  the 
hand  of  his  sister,  by  which  she  supported  herself  on  the  pillion 
behind  him,  touched  his  own,  it  felt  as  wet  and  cold  as 
sepulchral  marble. 

Glancing  wide  over  hill  and  dale,  the  fair  bridal  procession 
at  last  reached  the  parish  church,  which  they  nearly  filled; 
for,  besides  domestics,  above  a  hundred  gentlemen  and  ladies 
were  present  upon  the  occasion.  The  marriage  ceremony 
was  performed  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Presbyterian  per¬ 
suasion,  to  which  Bucklaw  of  late  had  judged  it  proper  to 
conform. 

On  the  outside  of  the  church,  a  liberal  dole  was  distributed 
to  the  poor  of  the  neighbouring  parishes,  under  the  direction 
of  Johnnie  Mortsheugh,  who  had  lately  been  promoted  from 
his  desolate  quarters  at  the  Hermitage  to  fill  the  more  eligible 
situation  of  sexton  at  the  parish  church  of  Ravenswood. 
Dame  Gourlay,  with  two  of  her  contemporaries,  the  same  who 
assisted  at  Alice’s  late-wake,  seated  apart  upon  a  flat  monument, 
or  ‘  through-stane,’  sate  enviously  comparing  the  shares  which 
had  been  allotted  to  them  in  dividing  the  dole. 

‘  Johnnie  Mortsheugh,’  said  Annie  Winnie,  ‘  might  hae  minded 
auld  lang  syne,  and  thought  of  his  auld  kimmers,  for  as  braw 
as  he  is  with  his  new  black  coat.  I  hae  gotten  but  five  herring 
instead  o’  sax,  and  this  disna  look  like  a  gude  saxpennys,  and  I 
daresay  this  bit  morsel  o’  beef  is  an  unce  lighter  than  ony  that ’s 
been  dealt  round  ;  and  it ’s  a  bit  o’  the  tenony  hough,  mair  by 
token  that  yours,  Maggie,  is  out  o’  the  back-sey.’ 

‘  Mine,  quo’  she  !  ’  mumbled  the  paralytic  hag  —  ‘  mine  is  half 
banes,  I  trow.  If  grit  folk  gie  poor  bodies  ony  thing  for  coming 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOQR 


299 


to  their  weddings  and  burials,  it  suld  be  something  that  wad 
do  them  gude,  I  think.’ 

£  Their  gifts,’  said  Ailsie  Gourlay,  ‘  are  dealt  for  nae  love  of 
us,  nor  out  of  respect  for  whether  we  feed  or  starve.  They 
wad  gie  us  whinstanes  for  loaves,  if  it  would  serve  their  ain 
vanity,  and  yet  they  expect  us  to  be  as  gratefu’,  as  they  ca’  it, 
as  if  they  served  us  for  true  love  and  liking.’ 

‘And  that’s  truly  said,’  answered  her  companion. 

‘But,  Ailsie  Gourlay,  ye’re  the  auldest  o’  us  three  —  did  ye 
ever  see  a  mair  grand  bridal  1  ’ 

‘I  winna  say  that  I  have,’  answered  the  hag;  ‘but  I  think 
soon  to  see  as  braw  a  burial.’ 

‘And  that  wad  please  me  as  weel,’  said  Annie  Winnie;  ‘for 
there ’s  as  large  a  dole,  and  folk  are  no  obliged  to  girn  and 
laugh,  and  mak  murgeons,  and  wish  joy  to  these  hellicat 
quality,  that  lord  it  ower  us  like  brute  beasts.  I  like  to  pack 
the  dead-dole  in  my  lap,  and  rin  ower  my  auld  rhyme  — 

My  loaf  in  my  lap,  my  penny  in  my  purse, 

Thou  art  ne’er  the  better,  and  I ’m  ne’er  the  worse.’ 1 

‘That’s  right,  Annie,’  said  the  paralytic  woman;  ‘God  send 
us  a  green  Yule  and  a  fat  kirkyard  !  ’ 

‘  But  I  wad  like  to  ken,  Luckie  Gourlay,  for  ye  ’re  the  auldest 
and  wisest  amang  us,  whilk  o’  these  revellers’  turn  it  will  be  to 
be  streikit  first  1  ’ 

‘D’ye  see  yon  dandilly  maiden,’  said  Dame  Gourlay,  ‘a’ 
glistenin’  wi’  gowd  and  jewels,  that  they  are  lifting  up  on  the 
white  horse  behind  that  hare-brained  callant  in  scarlet,  wi’  the 
lang  sword  at  his  side  ?  ’ 

‘  But  that ’s  the  bride !  ’  said  her  companion,  her  cold  heart 
touched  with  some  sort  of  compassion  —  ‘  that ’s  the  very  bride 
hersell !  Eh,  whow  !  sae  young,  sae  braw,  and  sae  bonny  —  and 
is  her  time  sae  short  ?  ’ 

‘ I  tell  ye,’  said  the  sibyl,  ‘her  winding  sheet  is  up  as  high  as 
her  throat  already,  believe  it  wha  list.  Her  sand  has  but  few 
grains  to  rin  out ;  and  nae  wonder  —  they ’ve  been  weel  shaken. 
The  leaves  are  withering  fast  on  the  trees,  but  she  ’ll  never  see 
the  Martinmas  wind  gar  them  dance  in  swirls  like  the  fairy 
rings.’ 

‘Ye  waited  on  her  for  a  quarter,’  said  the  paralytic  woman, 

‘  and  got  twa  red  pieces,  or  I  am  far  beguiled  ?  ’ 

‘Ay,  ay,’  answered  Ailsie,  with  a  bitter  grin;  ‘and  Sir 

.  _ t _ . 

1  See  Curing  by  Charms.  Note  7. 


300 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


William  Ashton  promised  me  a  bonny  red  gown  to  the  hoot  o’ 
that  —  a  stake,  and  a  chain,  and  a  tar-barrel,  lass  !  what  think 
ye  o’  that  for  a  propine  ?  —  for  being  up  early  and  doun  late  for 
fourscore  nights  and  mair  wi’  his  d wining  daughter.  But  he 
may  keep  it  for  his  ain  leddy,  cummers.’ 

‘I  hae  heard  a  sough,’  said  Annie  Winnie,  ‘as  if  Leddy 
Ashton  was  nae  canny  body.’ 

‘D’ye  see  her  yonder,’  said  Dame  Gourlay,  ‘as  she  prances 
on  her  grey  gelding  out  at  the  kirkyard  ?  There ’s  mair  o’  utter 
deevilry  in  that  woman,  as  brave  and  fair-fashioned  as  she  rides 
yonder,  than  in  a’  the  Scotch  witches  that  ever  flew  by  moon¬ 
light  ower  North  Berwick  Law.’ 

‘  What ’s  that  ye  say  about  witches,  ye  damned  hags  ?  ’  said 
Johnnie  Mortsheugh ;  ‘are  ye  casting  yer  cantrips  in  the  very 
kirkyard,  to  mischieve  the  bride  and  bridegroom  ?  Get  awa’ 
hame,  for  if  I  tak  my  souple  t’  ye,  I  ’ll  gar  ye  find  the  road 
faster  than  ye  wad  like.’ 

‘  Hegh,  sirs  !  ’  answered  Ailsie  Gourlay ;  ‘  how  braw  are  we 
wi’  our  new  black  coat  and  our  weel-pouthered  head,  as  if  we 
had  never  kenn’d  hunger  nor  thirst  oursells !  and  we  ’ll  be 
screwing  up  our  bit  fiddle,  doubtless,  in  the  ha’  the  night, 
amang  a’  the  other  elbo’ -jiggers  for  miles  round.  Let ’s  see  if 
the  pins  haud,  Johnnie  —  that’s  a’,  lad.’ 

‘  I  take  ye  a’  to  witness,  gude  people,’  said  Mortsheugh,  ‘that 
she  threatens  me  wi’  mischief,  and  forespeaks  me.  If  ony 
thing  but  gude  happens  to  me  or  my  fiddle  this  night,  I  ’ll 
make  it  the  blackest  night’s  job  she  ever  stirred  in.  I  ’li  hae 
her  before  presbytery  and  synod  :  I ’m  half  a  minister  mysell, 
now  that  I ’m  a  bedral  in  an  inhabited  parish.  ’ 

Although  the  mutual  hatred  betwixt  these  hags  and  the  rest 
of  mankind  had  steeled  their  hearts  against  all  impressions  of 
festivity,  this  was  by  no  means  the  case  with  the  multitude  at 
large.  The  splendour  of  the  bridal  retinue,  the  gay  dresses, 
the  spirited  horses,  the  blithesome  appearance  of  the  handsome 
women  and  gallant  gentlemen  assembled  upon  the  occasion, 
had  the  usual  effect  upon  the  minds  of  the  populace.  The 
repeated  shouts  of  ‘  Ashton  and  Bucklaw  for  ever  !  ’  the  dis¬ 
charge  of  pistols,  guns,  and  musketoons,  to  give  what  was 
called  the  bridal  shot,  evinced  the  interest  the  people  took  in 
the  occasion  of  the  cavalcade,  as  they  accompanied  it  upon 
their  return  to  the  castle.  If  there  was  here  and  there  an 
elder  peasant  or  his  wife  who  sneered  at  the  pomp  of  the 
upstart  family,  and  remembered  the  days  of  the  long-descended 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


301 


Ravenswoods,  even  they,  attracted  by  the  plentiful  cheer  which 
the  castle  that  day  afforded  to  rich  and  poor,  held  their  way 
thither,  and  acknowledged,  notwithstanding  their  prejudices, 
the  influence  of  V  Amp  hitrion  ou  Von  dine. 

Thus  accompanied  with  the  attendance  both  of  rich  and 
poor,  Lucy  returned  to  her  father’s  house.  Bucklaw  used  his 
privilege  of  riding  next  to  the  bride,  but,  new  to  such  a 
situation,  rather  endeavoured  to  attract  attention  by  the  dis¬ 
play  of  his  person  and  horsemanship,  than  by  any  attempt  to 
address  her  in  private.  They  reached  the  castle  in  safety, 
amid  a  thousand  joyous  acclamations. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  weddings  of  ancient  days  were 
celebrated  with  a  festive  publicity  rejected  by  the  delicacy  of 
modern  times.  The  marriage  guests,  on  the  present  occasion, 
were  regaled  with  a  banquet  of  unbounded  profusion,  the  relics 
of  which,  after  the  domestics  had  feasted  in  their  turn,  were 
distributed  among  the  shouting  crowd,  with  as  many  barrels  of 
ale  as  made  the  hilarity  without  correspond  to  that  within  the 
castle.  The  gentlemen,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
indulged,  for  the  most  part,  in  deep  draughts  of  the  richest 
wines,  while  the  ladies,  prepared  for  the  ball  which  always 
closed  a  bridal  entertainment,  impatiently  expected  their 
arrival  in  the  state  gallery.  At  length  the  social  party  broke 
up  at  a  late  hour,  and  the  gentlemen  crowded  into  the  saloon, 
where,  enlivened  by  wine  and  the  joyful  occasion,  they  laid 
aside  their  swords  and  handed  their  impatient  partners  to  the 
floor.  The  music  already  rung  from  the  gallery,  along  the 
fretted  roof  of  the  ancient  state  apartment.  According  to 
strict  etiquette,  the  bride  ought  to  have  opened  the  ball ;  but 
Lady  Ashton,  making  an  apology  on  account  of  her  daughter’s 
health,  offered  her  own  hand  to  Bucklaw  as  substitute  for  her 
daughter’s. 

But  as  Lady  Ashton  raised  her  head  gracefully,  expecting 
the  strain  at  which  she  was  to  begin  the  dance,  she  was  so 
much  struck  by  an  unexpected  alteration  in  the  ornaments 
of  the  apartment  that  she  was  surprised  into  an  exclamation  — 
‘  Who  has  dared  to  change  the  pictures  %  ’ 

All  looked  up,  and  those  who  knew  the  usual  state  of  the 
apartment  observed,  with  surprise,  that  the  picture  of  Sir 
William  Ashton’s  father  was  removed  from  its  place,  and  in  its 
stead  that  of  old  Sir  Malise  Ravenswood  seemed  to  frown 
wrath  and  vengeance  upon  the  party  assembled  below.  The 
exchange  must  have  been  made  while  the  apartments  were 


302 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


empty,  but  had  not  been  observed  until  the  torches  and 
lights  in  the  sconces  were  kindled  for  the  ball.  The  haughty 
and  heated  spirits  of  the  gentlemen  led  them  to  demand  an 
immediate  inquiry  into  the  cause  of  what  they  deemed  an 
affront  to  their  host  and  to  themselves ;  hut  Lady  Ashton, 
recovering  herself,  passed  it  over  as  the  freak  of  a  crazy 
wench  who  was  maintained  about  the  castle,  and  whose  sus¬ 
ceptible  imagination  had  been  observed  to  be  much  affected  by 
the  stories  which  Dame  Gourlay  delighted  to  tell  concerning 
‘the  former  family,'  so  Lady  Ashton  named  the  Ravenswoods. 
The  obnoxious  picture  was  immediately  removed,  and  the  ball 
was  opened  by  Lady  Ashton,  with  a  grace  and  dignity  which 
supplied  the  charms  of  youth,  and  almost  verified  the  ex¬ 
travagant  encomiums  of  the  elder  part  of  the  company,  who 
extolled  her  performance  as  far  exceeding  the  dancing  of  the 
rising  generation. 

When  Lady  Ashton  sat  down,  she  was  not  surprised  to  find 
that  her  daughter  had  left  the  apartment,  and  she  herself 
followed,  eager  to  obviate  any  impression  which  might  have 
been  made  upon  her  nerves  by  an  incident  so  likely  to 
affect  them  as  the  mysterious  transposition  of  the  portraits. 
Apparently  she  found  her  apprehensions  groundless,  for  she 
returned  in  about  an  hour,  and  whispered  the  bridegroom, 
who  extricated  himself  from  the  dancers,  and  vanished  from 
the  apartment.  The  instruments  now  played  their  loudest 
strains  ;  the  dancers  pursued  their  exercise  with  all  the  en¬ 
thusiasm  inspired  by  youth,  mirth,  and  high  spirits,  when  a 
cry  was  heard  so  shrill  and  piercing  as  at  once  to  arrest  the 
dance  and  the  music.  All  stood  motionless ;  but  when  the 
yell  was  again  repeated,  Colonel  Ashton  snatched  a  torch  from 
the  sconce,  and  demanding  the  key  of  the  bridal-chamber  from 
Henry,  to  whom,  as  bride's-man,  it  had  been  entrusted,  rushed 
thither,  followed  by  Sir  William  and  Lady  Ashton,  and  one  or 
two  others,  near  relations  of  the  family.  The  bridal  guests 
waited  their  return  in  stupified  amazement. 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  apartment,  Colonel  Ashton 
knocked  and  called,  but  received  no  answer  except  stifled 
groans.  He  hesitated  no  longer  to  open  the  door  of  the 
apartment,  in  which  he  found  opposition  from  something 
which  lay  against  it.  When  he  had  succeeded  in  opening  it, 
the  body  of  the  bridegroom  was  found  lying  on  the  threshold 
of  the  bridal  chamber,  and  all  around  was  flooded  with  blood. 
A  cry  of  surprise  and  horror  was  raised  by  all  present ;  and 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


303 


the  company,  excited  by  this  new  alarm,  began  to  rush 
tumultuously  towards  the  sleeping  apartment.  Colonel  Ashton, 
first  whispering  to  his  mother  —  ‘  Search  for  her ;  she  has 
murdered  him !  ?  drew  his  sword,  planted  himself  in  the 
passage,  and  declared  he  would  suffer  no  man  to  pass  except¬ 
ing  the  clergyman  and  a  medical  person  present.  By  their 
assistance,  Bucklaw,  who  still  breathed,  was  raised  from  the 
ground,  and  transported  to  another  apartment,  where  his 
friends,  full  of  suspicion  and  murmuring,  assembled  round  him 
to  learn  the  opinion  of  the  surgeon. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Lady  Ashton,  her  husband,  and  their 
assistants  in  vain  sought  Lucy  in  the  bridal  bed  and  in  the 
chamber.  There  was  no  private  passage  from  the  room,  and 
they  began  to  think  that  she  must  have  thrown  herself  from 
the  window,  when  one  of  the  company,  holding  his  torch 
lower  than  the  rest,  discovered  something  white  in  the  corner 
of  the  great  old-fashioned  chimney  of  the  apartment.  Here 
they  found  the  unfortunate  girl  seated,  or  rather  couched  like 
a  hare  upon  its  form  —  her  head-gear  dishevelled,  her  night¬ 
clothes  torn  and  dabbled  with  blood,  her  eyes  glazed,  and  her 
features  convulsed  into  a  wild  paroxysm  of  insanity.  When 
she  saw  herself  discovered,  she  gibbered,  made  mouths,  and 
pointed  at  them  with  her  bloody  fingers,  with  the  frantic 
gestures  of  an  exulting  demoniac. 

Female  assistance  was  now  hastily  summoned ;  the  unhappy 
bride  was  overpowered,  not  without  the  use  of  some  force.  As 
they  carried  her  over  the  threshold,  she  looked  down,  and 
uttered  the  only  articulate  words  that  she  had  yet  spoken, 
saying  with  a  sort  of  grinning  exultation  — ‘  So,  you  have  ta’en 
up  your  bonny  bridegroom  1 9  She  was,  by  the  shuddering 
assistants,  conveyed  to  another  and  more  retired  apartment, 
where  she  was  secured  as  her  situation  required,  and  closely 
watched.  The  unutterable  agony  of  the  parents,  the  horror 
and  confusion  of  all  who  were  in  the  castle,  the  fury  of  con¬ 
tending  passions  between  the  friends  of  the  different  parties  — 
passions  augmented  by  previous  intemperance  —  surpass  de¬ 
scription. 

The  surgeon  was  the  first  who  obtained  something  like  a 
patient  hearing;  he  pronounced  that  the  wound  of  Bucklaw, 
though  severe  and  dangerous,  was  by  no  means  fatal,  but 
might  readily  be  rendered  so  by  disturbance  and  hasty 
removal.  This  silenced  the  numerous  party  of  Bucklaw’s 
friends,  who  had  previously  insisted  that  he  should,  at  all 


304 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


rates,  be  transported  from  the  castle  to  the  nearest  of  their 
houses.  They  still  demanded,  however,  that,  in  consideration 
of  what  had  happened,  four  of  their  number  should  remain  to 
watch  over  the  sick-bed  of.  their  friend,  and  that  a  suitable 
number  of  their  domestics,  well  armed,  should  also  remain  in 
the  castle.  This  condition  being  acceded  to  on  the  part  of 
Colonel  Ashton  and  his  father,  the  rest  of  the  bridegroom’s 
friends  left  the  castle,  notwithstanding  the  hour  and  the 
darkness  of  the  night.  The  cares  of  the  medical  man  were 
next  employed  in  behalf  of  Miss  Ashton,  whom  he  pronounced 
to  be  in  a  very  dangerous  state.  Farther  medical  assistance 
was  immediately  summoned.  All  night  she  remained  delirious. 
On  the  morning,  she  fell  into  a  state  of  absolute  insensibility. 
The  next  evening,  the  physicians  said,  would  be  the  crisis  of 
her  malady.  It  proved  so ;  for  although  she  awoke  from  her 
trance  with  some  appearance  of  calmness,  and  suffered  her 
night-clothes  to  be  changed,  or  put  in  order,  yet,  so  soon  as  she 
put  her  hand  to  her  neck,  as  if  to  search  for  the  fatal  blue 
ribbon,  a  tide  of  recollections  seemed  to  rush  upon  her,  which 
her  mind  and  body  were  alike  incapable  of  bearing.  Con¬ 
vulsion  followed  convulsion,  till  they  closed  in  death,  without 
her  being  able  to  utter  a  word  explanator}^  of  the  fatal  scene. 

The  provincial  judge  of  the  district  arrived  the  day  after 
the  young  lady  had  expired,  and  executed,  though  with  all 
possible  delicacy  to  the  afflicted  family,  the  painful  duty  of 
inquiring  into  this  fatal  transaction.  But  there  occurred 
nothing  to  explain  the  general  hypothesis  that  the  bride,  in 
a  sudden  fit  of  insanity,  had  stabbed  the  bridegroom  at  the 
threshold  of  the  apartment.  The  fatal  weapon  was  found  in  the 
chamber  smeared  with  blood.  It  was  the  same  poniard  which 
Henry  should  have  worn  on  the  wedding-day,  and  which  his 
unhappy  sister  had  probably  contrived  to  secrete  on  the  pre¬ 
ceding  evening,  when  it  had  been  shown  to  her  among  other 
articles  of  preparation  for  the  wedding. 

The  friends  of  Bucklaw  expected  that  on  his  recovery  he 
would  throw  some  light  upon  this  dark  story,  and  eagerly 
pressed  him  with  inquiries,  which  for  some  time  he  evaded 
under  pretext  of  weakness.  When,  however,  he  had  been 
transported  to  his  own  house,  and  was  considered  as  in  a  state 
of  convalescence,  he  assembled  those  persons,  both  male  and 
female,  who  had  considered  themselves  as  entitled  to  press  him 
on  this  subject,  and  returned  them  thanks  for  the  interest  they 
had  exhibited  in  his  behalf,  and  their  offers  of  adherence  and 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


305 


support.  ‘I  wish  you  all,’  he  said,  ‘ my  friends,  to  understand, 
however,  that  I  have  neither  story  to  tell  nor  injuries  to 
avenge.  If  a  lady  shall  question  me  henceforward  upon  the 
incidents  of  that  unhappy  night,  I  shall  remain  silent,  and  in 
future  consider  her  as  one  who  has  shown  herself  desirous  to 
break  off  her  friendship  with  me ;  in  a  word,  I  will  never  speak 
to  her  again.  But  if  a  gentleman  shall  ask  me  the  same 
question,  I  shall  regard  the  incivility  as  equivalent  to  an  in¬ 
vitation  to  meet  him  in  the  Duke’s  Walk,1  and  I  expect  that 
he  will  rule  himself  accordingly.’ 

A  declaration  so  decisive  admitted  no  commentary ;  and  it 
was  soon  after  seen  that  Bucklaw  had  arisen  from  the  bed  of 
sickness  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man  than  he  had  hitherto  shown 
himself.  He  dismissed  Craigengelt  from  his  society,  but  not 
without  such  a  provision  as,  if  well  employed,  might  secure 
him  against  indigence  and  against  temptation. 

Bucklaw  afterwards  went  abroad,  and  never  returned  to 
Scotland ;  nor  was  he  known  ever  to  hint  at  the  circumstances 
attending  his  fatal  marriage.  By  many  readers  this  may  be 
deemed  overstrained,  romantic,  and  composed  by  the  wild 
imagination  of  an  author  desirous  of  gratifying  the  popular 
appetite  for  the  horrible ;  but  those  who  are  read  in  the 
private  family  history  of  Scotland  during  the  period  in  which 
the  scene  is  laid,  will  readily  discover,  through  the  disguise  of 
borrowed  names  and  added  incidents,  the  leading  particulars  of 

AN  OWER  TRUE  TALE. 


1  See  Note  8. 


I 


VOL.  VIII 


20 


CHAPTER  XXXV 


Whose  mind ’s  so  marbled,  and  his  heart  so  hard, 

That  would  not,  when  this  huge  mishap  was  heard, 

To  th’  utmost  note  of  sorrow  set  their  song, 

To  see  a  gallant,  with  so  great  a  grace, 

So  suddenly  un thought  on,  so  o’erthrown, 

And  so  to  perish,  in  so  poor  a  place, 

By  too  rash  riding  in  a  ground  unknown  ! 

Poem,  in  Nisbet’s  Heraldry ,  vol.  ii. 

WE  have  anticipated  the  course  of  time  to  mention 
Bucklaw’s  recovery  and  fate,  that  we  might  not  in¬ 
terrupt  the  detail  of  events  which  succeeded  the 
funeral  of  the  unfortunate  Lucy  Ashton.  This  melancholy  cere¬ 
mony  was  performed  in  the  misty  dawn  of  an  autumnal  morning, 
with  such  moderate  attendance  and  ceremony  as  could  not  possi¬ 
bly  be  dispensed  with.  A  very  few  of  the  nearest  relations  at¬ 
tended  her  body  to  the  same  church-yard  to  which  she  had 
lately  been  led  as  a  bride,  with  as  little  free  will,  perhaps,  as 
could  be  now  testified  by  her  lifeless  and  passive  remains.  An 
aisle  adjacent  to  the  church  had  been  fitted  up  by  Sir  William 
Ashton  as  a  family  cemetery ;  and  here,  in  a  coffin  bearing  neither 
name  nor  date,  were  consigned  to  dust  the  remains  of  what  was 
once  lovely,  beautiful,  and  innocent,  though  exasperated  to 
frenzy  by  a  long  tract  of  unremitting  persecution. 

While  the  mourners  were  busy  in  the  vault,  the  three  village 
hags,  who,  notwithstanding  the  unwonted  earliness  of  the  hour, 
had  snuffed  the  carrion  like  vultures,  were  seated  on  the  ‘  through - 
stane,’  and  engaged  in  their  wonted  unhallowed  conference. 

‘Did  not  I  say,'  said  Dame  Gourlay,  ‘that  the  braw  bridal 
would  be  followed  by  as  braw  a  funeral  % ’ 

‘I  think,’  answered  Dame  Winnie,  ‘there’s  little  bravery  at 
it :  neither  meat  nor  drink,  and  just  a  wheen  silver  tippences 
to  the  poor  folk  ;  it  was  little  worth  while  to  come  sae  far  road 
for  sae  sma’  profit,  and  us  sae  frail.’ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


307 


‘  Out,  wretch !  ’  replied  Dame  Gourlay,  c  can  a’  the  dainties 
they  could  gie  us  be  half  sae  sweet  as  this  hour’s  vengeance  ? 
There  they  are  that  were  capering  on  their  prancing  nags  four 
days  since,  and  they  are  now  ganging  as  dreigh  and  sober  as 
oursells  the  day.  They  were  a’  glistening  wi’  gowd  and  silver ; 
they  ’re  now  as  black  as  the  crook.  And  Miss  Lucy  Ashton, 
that  grudged  when  an  honest  woman  came  near  her  —  a  taid 
may  sit  on  her  coffin  the  day,  and  she  can  never  scunner  when 
he  croaks.  And  Lady  Ashton  has  hell-fire  burning  in  her 
breast  by  this  time ;  and  Sir  William,  wi’  his  gibbets,  and  his 
faggots,  and  his  chains,  how  likes  he  the  witcheries  of  his  ain 
dwelling-house  ?  ’ 

‘  And  is  it  true,  then,’  mumbled  the  paralytic  wretch,  ‘  that 
the  bride  was  trailed  out  of  her  bed  and  up  the  chimley  by 
evil  spirits,  and  that  the  bridegroom’s  face  was  wrung  round 
ahint  him  1  ’ 

‘Ye  needna  care  wha  did  it,  or  how  it  was  done,’  said  Ailsie 
Gourlay ;  ‘  but  I  ’ll  uphaud  it  for  nae  stickit 1  job,  and  that  the 
lairds  and  leddies  ken  weel  this  day.’ 

‘And  was  it  true,’  said  Annie  Winnie,  ‘  sin  ye  ken  sae  muckle 
about  it,  that  the  picture  of  auld  Sir  Malise  Ravenswood  came 
down  on  the  ha’  floor,  and  led  out  the  brawl  before  them  a’  %  ’ 

‘Na,’  said  Ailsie;  ‘but  into  the  ha’  came  the  picture  —  and 
I  ken  weel  how  it  came  there  —  to  gie  them  a  warning  that 
pride  wad  get  a  fa’.  But  there ’s  as  queer  a  ploy,  cummers,  as 
ony  o’  thae,  that ’s  gaun  on  even  now  in  the  burial  vault  yonder  : 
ye  saw  twall  mourners,  wi’  crape  and  cloak,  gang  down  the 
steps  pair  and  pair  1  ’ 

‘  What  should  ail  us  to  see  them  ?  ’  said  the  one  old  woman. 

‘I  counted  them,’  said  the  other,  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
person  to  whom  the  spectacle  had  afforded  too  much  interest 
to  be  viewed  with  indifference. 

‘But  ye  did  not  see,’  said  Ailsie,  exulting  in  her  superior 
observation,  ‘  that  there ’s  a  thirteenth  amang  them  that  they 
ken  naething  about ;  and,  if  auld  freits  say  true,  there ’s  ane  o’ 
that  company  that  ’ll  no  be  lang  for  this  warld.  But  come  awa’, 
cummers ;  if  we  bide  here,  I’se  warrant  we  get  the  wyte  o’  what¬ 
ever  ill  comes  of  it,  and  that  gude  will  come  of  it  nane  o’  them 
need  ever1  think  to  see.’ 

And  thus,  croaking  like  the  ravens  when  they  anticipate 
pestilence,  the  ill-boding  sibyls  withdrew  from  the  churchyard. 

In  fact,  the  mourners,  when  the  service  of  interment  was 


1  Stickit ,  imperfect. 


308 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


ended,  discovered  that  there  was  among  them  one  more  than 
the  invited  number,  and  the  remark  was  communicated  in 
whispers  to  each  other.  The  suspicion  fell  upon  a  figure  which, 
muffled  in  the  same  deep  mourning  with  the  others,  was  reclined, 
almost  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  against  one  of  the  pillars 
of  the  sepulchral  vault.  The  relatives  of  the  Ashton  family 
were  expressing  in  whispers  their  surprise  and  displeasure  at 
the  intrusion,  when  they  were  interrupted  by  Colonel  Ashton, 
who,  in  his  father’s  absence,  acted  as  principal  mourner.  ‘I 
know,’  he  said  in  a  whisper,  ‘who  this  person  is;  he  has,  or 
shall  soon  have,  as  deep  cause  of  mourning  as  ourselves ;  leave 
me  to  deal  with  him,  and  do  not  disturb  the  ceremony  by 
unnecessary  exposure.’  So  saying,  he  separated  himself  from 
the  group  of  his  relations,  and  taking  the  unknown  mourner 
by  the  cloak,  he  said  to  him,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  emotion, 
‘  Follow  me.’ 

The  stranger,  as  if  starting  from  a  trance  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  mechanically  obeyed,  and  they  ascended  the  broken 
ruinous  stair  which  led  from  the  sepulchre  into  the  churchyard. 
The  other  mourners  followed,  but  remained  grouped  together 
at  the  door  of  the  vault,  watching  with  anxiety  the  motions  of 
Colonel  Ashton  and  the  stranger,  who  now  appeared  to  be  in 
close  conference  beneath  the  shade  of  a  yew-tree,  in  the  most 
remote  part  of  the  burial-ground. 

To  this  sequestered  spot  Colonel  Ashton  had  guided  the 
stranger,  and  then  turning  round,  addressed  him  in  a  stern 
and  composed  tone.  —  ‘  I  cannot  doubt  that  I  speak  to  the 
Master  of  Ravens  wood  V  No  answer  was  returned.  ‘  I  cannot 
doubt,’  resumed  the  Colonel,  trembling  with  rising  passion, 

‘  that  I  speak  to  the  murderer  of  my  sister  1  ’ 

‘You  have  named  me  but  too  truly,’  said  Ravenswood,  in  a 
hollow  and  tremulous  voice. 

‘If  you  repent  what  you  have  done,’ said  the  Colonel,  ‘may 
your  penitence  avail  you  before  God ;  with  me  it  shall  serve 
you  nothing.  Here,’  he  said,  giving  a  paper,  ‘is  the  measure 
of  my  sword,  and  a  memorandum  of  the  time  and  place  of 
meeting.  Sunrise  to-morrow  morning,  on  the  links  to  the  east 
of  Wolf’s  Hope.’ 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  held  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and 
seemed  irresolute.  At  length  he  spoke  —  ‘  Do  not,’  he  said,  ‘  urge 
to  farther  desperation  a  wretch  who  is  already  desperate.  Enjoy 
your  life  while  you  can,  and  let  me  seek  my  death  from  another.’ 

‘  That  you  never,  never  shall !  ’  said  Douglas  Ashton.  ‘  You 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


809 


shall  die  by  my  hand,  or  you  shall  complete  the  ruin  of  my 
family  by  taking  my  life.  If  you  refuse  my  open  challenge, 
there  is  no  advantage  I  will  not  take  of  you,  no  indignity  with 
which  I  will  not  load  you,  until  the  very  name  of  Ravenswood 
shall  be  the  sign  of  everything  that  is  dishonourable,  as  it  is 
already  of  all  that  is  villainous/ 

‘That  it  shall  never  be,’  said  Ravenswood,  fiercely  ;  ‘  if  I  am 
the  last  who  must  bear  it,  I  owe  it  to  those  who  once  owned  it 
that  the  name  shall  be  extinguished  without  infamy.  I  accept 
your  challenge,  time,  and  place  of  meeting.  We  meet,  I  pre¬ 
sume,  alone  %  ’ 

‘Alone  we  meet,’  said  Colonel  Ashton,  ‘and  alone  will  the 
survivor  of  us  return  from  that  place  of  rendezvous/ 

‘  Then  God  have  mercy  on  the  soul  of  him  who  falls  !  ’  said 
Ravenswood. 

‘So  be  it !  said  Colonel  Ashton ;  ‘ so  far  can  my  charity 
reach  even  for  the  man  I  hate  most  deadly,  and  with  the 
deepest  reason.  Now,  break  off,  for  we  shall  be  interrupted. 
The  links  by  the  sea-shore  to  the  east  of  Wolfs  Hope ;  the  hour, 
sunrise;  our  swords  our  only  weapons/ 

‘  Enough/  said  the  Master,  ‘  1  will  not  fail  you/ 

They  separated ;  Colonel  Ashton  joining  the  rest  of  the 
mourners,  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  taking  his  horse, 
which  was  tied  to  a  tree  behind  the  church.  Colonel  Ashton 
returned  to  the  castle  with  the  funeral  guests,  but  found  a 
pretext  for  detaching  himself  from  them  in  the  evening, 
when,  changing  his  dress  to  a  riding-habit,  he  rode  to  Wolfs 
Hope  that  night,  and  took  up  his  abode  in  the  little  inn, 
in  order  that  he  might  be  ready  for  his  rendezvous  in  the 
morning. 

It  is  not  known  how  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  disposed  of 
the  rest  of  that  unhappy  day.  Late  at  night,  however,  he 
arrived  at  Wolfs  Crag,  and  aroused  his  old  domestic,  Caleb 
Balderstone,  who  had  ceased  to  expect  his  return.  Confused 
and  flying  rumours  of  the  late  tragical  death  of  Miss  Ashton, 
and  of  its  mysterious  cause,  had  already  reached  the  old  man, 
who  was  filled  with  the  utmost  anxiety,  on  account  of  the 
probable  effect  these  events  might  produce  upon  the  mind  of 
his  master. 

The  conduct  of  Ravenswood  did  not  alleviate  his  appre¬ 
hensions.  To  the  butler’s  trembling  entreaties  that  he  would 
take  some  refreshment,  he  at  first  returned  no  answer,  and 
then  suddenly  and  fiercely  demanding  wine,  he  drank,  contrary 


310 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


to  his  habits,  a  very  large  draught.  Seeing  that  his  master 
would  eat  nothing,  the  old  man  affectionately  entreated  that  he 
would  permit  him  to  light  him  to  his  chamber.  It  was  not 
until  the  request  was  three  or  four  times  repeated  that  Ravens- 
wood  made  a  mute  sign  of  compliance.  But  when  Balderstone 
conducted  him  to  an  apartment  which  had  been  comfortably 
fitted  up,  and  which,  since  his  return,  he  had  usually  occupied, 
Ravenswood  stopped  short  on  the  threshold. 

‘Not  here,’  said  he,  sternly;  ‘show  me  the  room  in  which 
my  father  died ;  the  room  in  which  she  slept  the  night  they 
were  at  the  castle.’ 

‘  Who,  sir  1  ’  said  Caleb,  too  terrified  to  preserve  his  presence 
of  mind. 

‘  She,  Lucy  Ashton  !  Would  you  kill  me,  old  man,  by  forcing 
me  to  repeat  her  name  ?  ’ 

Caleb  would  have  said  something  of  the  disrepair  of  the 
chamber,  but  was  silenced  by  the  irritable  impatience  which 
was  expressed  in  his  master’s  countenance ;  he  lighted  the  way 
trembling  and  in  silence,  placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  of  the 
deserted  room,  and  was  about  to  attempt  some  arrangement 
of  the  bed,  when  his  master  bid  him  begone  in  a  tone  that 
admitted  of  no  delay.  The  old  man  retired,  not  to  rest,  but  to 
prayer ;  and  from  time  to  time  crept  to  the  door  of  the  apart¬ 
ment,  in  order  to  find  out  whether  Ravenswood  had  gone  to 
repose.  His  measured  heavy  step  upon  the  floor  was  only 
interrupted  by  deep  groans ;  and  the  repeated  stamps  of  the 
heel  of  his  heavy  boot  intimated  too  clearly  that  the  wretched 
inmate  was  abandoning  himself  at  such  moments  to  paroxysms 
of  uncontrolled  agony.  The  old  man  thought  that  the  morning, 
for  which  he  longed,  would  never  have  dawned ;  but  time, 
whose  course  rolls  on  with  equal  current,  however  it  may  seem 
more  rapid  or  more  slow  to  mortal  apprehension,  brought  the 
dawn  at  last,  and  spread  a  ruddy  light  on  the  broad  verge  of  the 
glistening  ocean.  It  was  early  in  November,  and  the  weather 
was  serene  for  the  season  of  the  year.  But  an  easterly  wind 
had  prevailed  during  the  night,  and  the  advancing  tide  rolled 
nearer  than  usual  to  the  foot  of  the  crags  on  which  the  castle 
was  founded. 

With  the  first  peep  of  light,  Caleb  Balderstone  again  resorted 
to  the  door  of  Ravenswood’s  sleeping  apartment,  through  a  chink 
of  which  he  observed  him  engaged  in  measuring  the  length  of 
two  or  three  swords  which  lay  in  a  closet  adjoining  to  the  apart¬ 
ment.  He  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  selected  one  of  these 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  311 

weapons  — *  It  is  shorter  :  let  him  have  this  advantage,  as  he  has 
every  other.’ 

Caleb  Balderstone  knew  too  well,  from  what  he  witnessed, 
upon  what  enterprise  his  master  was  bound,  and  how  vain  all 
interference  on  his  part  must  necessarily  prove.  He  had  but 
time  to  retreat  from  the  door,  so  nearly  was  he  surprised  by 
his  master  suddenly  coming  out  and  descending  to  the  stables. 
The  faithful  domestic  followed ;  and,  from  the  dishevelled 
appearance  of  his  master’s  dress,  and  his  ghastly  looks,  was 
confirmed  in  his  conjecture  that  he  had  passed  the  night  with¬ 
out  sleep  or  repose.  He  found  him  busily  engaged  in  saddling 
his  horse,  a  service  from  which  Caleb,  though  with  faltering 
voice  and  trembling  hands,  offered  to  relieve  him.  Ravenswood 
rejected  his  assistance  by  a  mute  sign,  and  having  led  the 
animal  into  the  court,  was  just  about  to  mount  him,  when  the  old 
domestic’s  fear  giving  way  to  the  strong  attachment  which  was 
the  principal  passion  of  his  mind,  he  flung  himself  suddenly  at 
Ravenswood’s  feet,  and  clasped  his  knees,  while  he  exclaimed, 

‘  Oh,  sir  !  oh,  master  !  kill  me  if  you  will,  but  do  not  go  out  on 
this  dreadful  errand  !  Oh  !  my  dear  master,  wait  but  this  day ; 
the  Marquis  of  A - comes  to-morrow,  and  a’  will  be  remedied.’ 

‘You  have  no  longer  a  master,  Caleb,’  said  Ravenswood, 
endeavouring  to  extricate  himself;  ‘why,  old  man,  would  you 
cling  to  a  falling  tower  1  ’ 

‘  But  I  have  a  master,’  cried  Caleb,  still  holding  him  fast, 

‘  while  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  breathes.  I  am  but  a  servant ; 
but  I  was  born  your  father’s  —  your  grandfather’s  servant.  I 
was  born  for  the  family  —  I  have  lived  for  them  —  I  would  die 
for  them  !  Stay  but  at  home,  and  all  will  be  well !  ’ 

‘  Well,  fool !  well  I  ’  said  Rayenswpod.  ‘  Vain  old  man,  noth¬ 
ing  hereafter  in  life  will  be^  well  with  me,  and  happiest  is  the 
hour  that  shall  soonest  close  it !  ’ 

So  saying,  he  extricated  himself  from  the  old  man’s  hold, 
threw  himself  on  his  horse,  and  rode  out  at  the  gate ;  but  in¬ 
stantly  turning  back,  he  threw  towards  Caleb,  who  hastened  to 
meet  him,  a  heavy  purse  of  gold. 

‘  Caleb  !  ’  he  said,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  ‘  I  make  you  my 
executor  ’ ;  and  again  turning  his  bridle,  he  resumed  his  course 
down  the  hill. 

The  gold  fell  unheeded  on  the  pavement,  for  the  old  man 
ran  to  observe  the  course  which  was  taken  by  his  master,  who 
turned  to  the  left  down  a  small  and  broken  path,  which  gained 
the  sea-shore  through  a  cleft  in  the  rock,  and  led  to  a  sort  of 


312 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


cove  where,  in  former  times,  the  boats  of  the  castle  were  wont 
to  be  moored.  Observing  him  take  this  course,  Caleb  hastened 
to  the  eastern  battlement,  which  commanded  the  prospect  of 
the  whole  sands,  very  near  as  far  as  the  village  of  W olf  s  Hope. 
He  could  easily  see  his  master  riding  in  that  direction,  as  fast 
as  the  horse  could  carry  him.  The  prophecy  at  once  rushed  on 
Balderstone’s  mind,  that  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  should  perish 
on  the  Kelpie’s  flow,  which  lay  half-way  betwixt  the  Tower  and 
the  links,  or  sand  knolls,  to  the  northward  of  Wolfs  Hope.  He 
saw  him  accordingly  reach  the  fatal  spot ;  but  he  never  saw  him 
pass  further. 

Colonel  Ashton,  frantic  for  revenge,  was  already  in  the  field, 
pacing  the  turf  with  eagerness,  and  looking  with  impatience 
towards  the  Tower  for  the  arrival  of  his  antagonist.  The  sun 
had  now  risen,  and  showed  its  broad  disk  above  the  eastern  sea, 
so  that  he  could  easily  discern  the  horseman  who  rode  towards 
him  with  speed  which  argued  impatience  equal  to  his  own. 
At  once  the  figure  became  invisible,  as  if  it  had  melted  into  the 
air.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had  witnessed  an  apparition, 
and  then  hastened  to  the  spot,  near  which  he  was  met  by 
Balderstone,  who  came  from  the  opposite  direction.  No  trace 
whatever  of  horse  or  rider  could  be  discerned  ;  it  only  appeared 
that  the  late  winds  and  high  tides  had  greatly  extended  the 
usual  bounds  of  the  quicksand,  and  that  the  unfortunate  horse¬ 
man,  as  appeared  from  the  hoof- tracks,  in  his  precipitated  haste, 
had  not  attended  to  keep  on  the  firm  sands  on  the  foot  of  the 
rock,  but  had  taken  the  shortest  and  most  dangerous  course. 
One  only  vestige  of  his  fate  appeared.  A  large  sable  feather 
had  been  detached  from  his  hat,  and  the  rippling  waves  of  the 
rising  tide  wafted  it  to  Caleb’s  feet.  The  old  man  took  it  up, 
dried  it,  and  placed  it  in  his  bosom. 

The  inhabitants  of  Wolf’s  Hope  were  now  alarmed,  and 
crowded  to  the  place,  some  on  shore,  and  some  in  boats,  but 
their  search  availed  nothing.  The  tenacious  depths  of  the 
quicksand,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  retained  its  prey. 

Our  tale  draws  to  a  conclusion.  The  Marquis  of  A - , 

alarmed  at  the  frightful  reports  that  were  current,  and  anxious 
for  his  kinsman’s  safety,  arrived  on  the  subsequent  day  to 
mourn  his  loss  :  and,  after  renewing  in  vain  a  search  for  the 
body,  returned,  to  forget  what  had  happened  amid  the  bustle  of 
politics  and  state  affairs. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


313 


Not  so  Caleb  Balderstone.  If  worldly  profit  could  have  con¬ 
soled  the  old  man,  his  age  was  better  provided  for  than  his 
earlier  life  had  ever  been ;  but  life  had  lost  to  him  its  salt 
and  its  savour.  His  whole  course  of  ideas,  his  feelings,  whether 
of  pride  or  of  apprehension,  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  had  all 
arisen  from  his  close  connexion  with  the  family  whidi  was  now 
extinguished.  He  held  up  his  head  no  longer,  forsook  all  his 
usual  haunts  and  occupations,  and  seemed  only  to  find  pleasure 
in  moping  about  those  apartments  in  the  old  castle  which  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  had  last  inhabited.  He  ate  without 
refreshment,  and  slumbered  without  repose  ;  and,  with  a  fidelity 
sometimes  displayed  by  the  canine  race,  but  seldom  by  human 
beings,  he  pined  and  died  within  a  year  after  the  catastrophe 
which  we  have  narrated. 

The  family  of  Ashton  did  not  long  survive  that  of  Ravens¬ 
wood.  Sir  William  Ashton  outlived  his  eldest  son,  the  Colonel, 
who  was  slain  in  a  duel  in  Flanders ;  and  Henry,  by  whom  he 
was  succeeded,  died  unmarried.  Lady  Ashton  lived  to  the 
verge  of  extreme  old  age,  the  only  survivor  of  the  group  of 
unhappy  persons  whose  misfortunes  were  owing  to  her  im¬ 
placability.  That  she  might  internally  feel  compunction,  and 
reconcile  herself  with  Heaven,  whom  she  had  offended,  we  will 
not,  and  we  dare  not,  deny ;  but  to  those  around  her  she  did 
not  evince  the  slightest  symptom  either  of  repentance  or 
remorse.  In  all  external  appearance  she  bore  the  same  bold, 
haughty,  unbending  character  which  she  had  displayed  before 
these  unhappy  events.  A  splendid  marble  monument  records 
her  name,  titles,  and  virtues,  while  her  victims  remain  undis¬ 
tinguished  by  tomb  or  epitaph. 


I 


NOTES  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF 
LAMMERMOOR 

Note  1.  —  Sir  G.  Lockhart,  p.  38 

President  of  the  Court  of  Session.  He  was  pistolled  in  the  High  Street 
of  Edinburgh,  by  John  Chiesley  of  Dairy,  in  the  year  1689.  The  revenge 
of  this  desperate  man  was  stimulated  by  an  opinion  that  he  had  sustained 
injustice  in  a  decreet-arbitral  pronounced  by  the  President,  assigning  an 
alimentary  provision  of  about  £93  in  favour  of  his  wife  and  children.  He 
is  said  at  first  to  have  designed  to  shoot  the  judge  while  attending  upon 
divine  worship,  but  was  diverted  by  some  feeling  concerning  the  sanctity  of 
the  place.  After  the  congregation  was  dismissed,  he  dogged  his  victim  as 
far  as  the  head  of  the  close,  on  the  south  side  of  the  Lawnmarket,  in  which 
the  President’s  house  was  situated,  and  shot  him  dead  as  he  was  about  to 
enter  it.  This  act  was  done  in  the  presence  of  numerous  spectators.  The 
assassin  made  no  attempt  to  fly,  but  boasted  of  the  deed,  saying,  ‘  I  have 
taught  the  President  how  to  do  justice.’  He  had  at  least  given  him  fair 
warning,  as  Jack  Cade  says  on  a  similar  occasion.  The  murderer,  after 
undergoing  the  torture,  by  a  special  act  of  the  Estates  of  Parliament,  was 
tried  before  the  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh,  as  high  sheriff,  and  condemned 
to  he  dragged  on  a  hurdle  to  the  place  of  execution,  to  have  his  right  hand 
struck  off  while  he  yet  lived,  and,  finally,  to  be  hung  on  the  gallows  with 
the  pistol  wherewith  he  shot  the  President  tied  round  his  neck.  This  exe¬ 
cution  took  place  on  the  3d  of  April  1689  ;  and  the  incident  was  long  re¬ 
membered  as  a  dreadful  instance  of  what  the  law  books  call  the  perfervidum 
ingenium  Bcotorum. 

Note  2.  —  Raid  op  Caleb  Balderstone,  p.  131 

The  raid  of  Caleb  Balderstone  on  the  cooper’s  kitchen  has  been  univer¬ 
sally  considered  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Tweed  as  grotesquely  and  ab¬ 
surdly  extravagant.  The  Author  can  only  say,  that  a  similar  anecdote  was 
communicated  to  him,  with  date  and  names  of  the  parties,  by  a  nobre  earl 
lately  deceased,  whose  remembrances  of  former  days,  both  in  Scotland  and 
England,  while  they  were  given  with  a  felicity  and  power  of  humour  never 
to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  his  lordship  in 
familiar  society,  were  especially  invaluable  from  their  extreme  accuracy. 

Speaking  after  my  kind  and  lamented  informer,  with  the  omission  of 
names  only,  the  anecdote  ran  thus:  —  There  was  a  certain  bachelor  gentle¬ 
man  in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  Scotland,  second  son  of  an  ancient 
family,  who  lived  on  the  fortune  of  a  second  son,  videlicet,  upon  some  mis¬ 
erably  small  annuity,  which  yet  was  so  managed  and  stretched  out  by  the 
expedients  of  his  man  John,  that  his  master  kept  the  front  rank  with  all 
the  young  men  of  quality  in  the  county,  and  hunted,  dined,  diced,  and  drank 
with  them  upon  apparently  equal  terms. 


316 


NOTES  TO  THE 


It  is  true  that,  as  the  master’s  society  was  extremely  amusing,  his  friends 
contrived  to  reconcile  his  man  John  to  accept  assistance  of  various  kinds 
‘  under  the  rose,’  which  they  dared  not  to  have  directly  offered  to  his  mas¬ 
ter.  Yet,  very  consistently  with  all  this  good  inclination  to  John  and  John’s 
master,  it  was  thought  among  the  young  fox-hunters  that  it  would  be  an 
excellent  jest,  if  possible,  to  take  John  at  fault. 

With  this  intention,  and,  I  think,  in  consequence  of  a  bet,  a  party  of  four 
or  five  of  these  youngsters  arrived  at  the  bachelor’s  little  mansion,  which 
was  adjacent  to  a  considerable  village.  Here  they  alighted  a  short  while  be¬ 
fore  the  dinner  hour  —  for  it  was  judged  regular  to  give  John’s  ingenuity  a 
fair  start  —  and,  rushing  past  the  astonished  domestic,  entered  the  little  par¬ 
lour  ;  and,  telling  some  concerted  story  of  the  cause  of  their  invasion,  the 
self-invited  guests  asked  their  landlord  if  he  could  let  them  have  some  dinner. 
Their  friend  gave  them  a  hearty  and  unembarrassed  reception,  and  for  the 
matter  of  dinner,  referred  them  to  John.  He  was  summoned  accordingly  ; 
received  his  master’s  orders  to  get  dinner  ready  for  the  party  who  had  thus 
unexpectedly  arrived  ;  and,  without  changing  a  muscle  of  his  countenance, 
promised  prompt  obedience.  Great  was  the  speculation  of  the  visitors,  and 
probably  of  the  landlord  also,  what  was  to  be  the  issue  of  John’s  fair  prom¬ 
ises.  Some  of  the  more  curious  had  taken  a  peep  into  the  kitchen,  and  could 
see  nothing  there  to  realise  the  prospect  held  out  by  the  major-domo.  But, 
punctual  as  the  dinner  hour  struck  on  the  village  clock,  John  placed  before 
them  a  stately  rump  of  boiled  beef,  with  a  proper  accompaniment  of  greens, 
amply  sufficient  to  dine  the  whole  party,  and  to  decide  the  bet  against  those 
among  the  visitors  who  expected  to  take  John  napping.  The  explanation 
was  the  same  as  in  the  case  of  Caleb  Balderstone.  John  had  used  the  free¬ 
dom  to  carry  off  the  kail-pot  of  a  rich  old  chuff  in  the  village,  and  brought 
it  to  his  master’s  house,  leaving  the  proprietor  and  his  friends  to  dine  on 
bread  and  cheese ;  and,  as  John  said,  ‘  good  enough  for  them.’  The  fear 
of  giving  offence  to  so  many  persons  of  distinction  kept  the  poor  man  suffi¬ 
ciently  quiet,  and  he  was  afterwards  remunerated  by  some  indirect  patron¬ 
age,  so  that  the  jest  was  admitted  a  good  one  on  all  sides.  In  England,  at 
any  period,  or  in  some  parts  of  Scotland  at  the  present  day,  it  might  not 
have  passed  off  so  well. 


Note  3.  —  Ancient  Hospitality,  p.  135 

It  was  once  the  universal  custom  to  place  ale,  wine,  or  some  strong  liquor 
in  the  chamber  of  an  honoured  guest,  to  assuage  his  thirst,  should  he  feel 
any  on  awakening  in  the  night,  which,  considering  that  the  hospitality  of 
that  period  often  reached  excess,  was  by  no  means  unlikely.  The  Author 
has  met  some  instances  of  it  in  former  days,  and  in  old-fashioned  families. 
It  was,  perhaps,  no  poetic  fiction  that  records  how 

My  cummer  and  I  lay  down  to  sleep 

With  two  pint-stoups  at  our  bed-feet ; 

And  aye  when  we  waken’d  we  drank  them  dry  : 

What  think  you  o’  my  cummer  and  I  ? 

It  is  a  current  story  in  Teviotdale,  that  in  the  house  of  an  ancient  family 
of  distinction,  much  addicted  to  the  Presbyterian  cause,  a  Bible  was  always 
put  into  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  guests,  along  with  a  bottle  of  strong 
ale.  On  some  occasion  there  was  a  meeting  of  clergymen  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  castle,  all  of  whom  were  invited  to  dinner  by  the  worthy  baronet,  and 
several  abode  all  night.  According  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  seven  of  the 
reverend  guests  were  allotted  to  one  large  barrack-room,  which  was  used 
on  such  occasions  of  extended  hospitality.  The  butler  took  care  that  the 
divines  were  presented,  according  to  custom,  each  with  a  Bible  and  a  bottle 
of  ale.  But  after  a  little  consultation  among  themselves,  they  are  said  to 


BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


317 


have  recalled  the  domestic  as  he  was  leaving  the  apartment.  ‘  My  friend,’ 
said  one  of  the  venerable  guests,  ‘  you  must  know,  when  we  meet  together 
as  brethren,  the  youngest  minister  reads  aloud  a  portion  of  Scripture  to 
the  rest ;  only  one  Bible,  therefore,  is  necessary  ;  take  away  the  other  six, 
and  in  their  place  bring  six  more  bottles  of  ale.’ 

This  synod  would  have  suited  the  ‘hermit  sage’  of  Johnson,  who  answered 
a  pupil  who  inquired  for  the  real  road  to  happiness  with  the  celebrated  line, 

Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer ! 


Note  4.  —  Appeal  to  Parliament,  p.  149 

The  power  of  appeal  from  the  Court  of  Session,  the  supreme  Judges  of 
Scotland,  to  the  Scottish  Parliament,  in  cases  of  civil  right,  was  fiercely 
debated  before  the  Union.  It  was  a  privilege  highly  desirable  for  the 
subject,  as  the  examination  and  occasional  reversal  of  their  sentences  in 
Parliament  might  serve  as  a  check  upon  the  judges,  which  they  greatly  re¬ 
quired  at  a  time  when  they  were  much  more  distinguished  for  legal  knowl¬ 
edge  than  for  uprightness  and  integrity. 

The  members  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  (so  the  Scottish  barristers  are 
termed),  in  the  year  1674,  incurred  the  violent  displeasure  of  the  Court  of 
Session,  on  account  of  their  refusal  to  renounce  the  right  of  appea.  to  Par¬ 
liament  ;  and,  by  a  very  arbitrary  procedure,  the  majority  of  the  number 
were  banished  from  Edinburgh,  and  consequently  deprived  of  their  profes¬ 
sional  practice,  for  several  sessions,  or  terms.  But,  by  the  articles  of  the 
Union,  an  appeal  to  the  British  House  of  Peers  has  been  secured  to  the  Scot¬ 
tish  subject,  and  that  right  has,  no  doubt,  had  its  influence  in  forming  the 
impartial  and  independent  character  which,  much  contrary  to  the  practice 
of  their  predecessors,  the  Judges  of  the  Court  of  Session  have  since  displayed. 

It  is  easy  to  conceive  that  an  old  lawyer  like  the  Lord  Keeper  in  the  text 
should  feel  alarm  at  the  judgments  given  in  his  favour,  upon  grounds  of  strict 
penal  law,  being  brought  to  appeal  under  a  new  and  dreaded  procedure  in  a 
Court  eminently  impartial,  and  peculiarly  moved  by  considerations  of  equity. 

In  earlier  editions  of  this  Work,  this  legal  distinction  was  not  sufficiently 
explained. 


Note  5.  —  Poor-Man-of-Mutton,  p.  172 

The  blade-bone  of  a  shoulder  of  mutton  is  called  in  Scotland  ‘  a  poor 
man,’  as  in  some  parts  of  England  it  is  termed  ‘  a  poor  knight  of  Wind¬ 
sor  ’ ;  in  contrast,  it  must  be  presumed,  to  the  baronial  Sir  Loin.  It  is 
said  that,  in  the  last  age,  an  old  Scottish  peer,  whose  conditions  (none  of 
the  most  gentle)  were  marked  by  a  strange  and  fierce-looking  exaggeration 
of  the  Highland  countenance,  chanced  to  be  indisposed  while  he  was  in 
London  attending  Parliament.  The  master  of  the  hotel  where  he  lodged, 
anxious  to  show  attention  to  his  noble  guest,  waited  on  him  to  enumerate 
the  contents  of  his  well-stocked  larder,  so  as  to  endeavour  to  hit  on  some¬ 
thing  which  might  suit  his  appetite.  ‘I  think,  landlord,’  said  his  lordship, 
rising  up  from  his  couch,  and  throwing  back  the  tartan  plaid  with  which 
he  had  screened  his  grim  and  ferocious  visage — ‘I  think  I  could  eat  a 
morsel  of  a  poor  man .’  The  landlord  fled  in  terror,  having  no  doubt  that 
his  guest  was  a  cannibal,  who  might  be  in  the  habit  of  eating  a  slice  of  a 
tenant,  as  light  food,  when  he  was  under  regimen. 


Note  6.  —  Middleton’s  ‘  Mad  World,’  p.  204 

Hereupon  I,  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  crave  leave  to  remark  primo,  which 
signifies,  in  the  first  place,  that,  having  in  vain  inquired  at  the  circulating 


318 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


library  in  Gandercleugh,  albeit  it  aboundeth  in  similar  vanities,  for  this 
samyn  Middleton  and  his  Mad  World,  it  was  at  length  shown  unto  me 
amongst  other  ancient  fooleries  carefully  compiled  by  one  Dodsley,  who, 
doubtless,  hath  his  reward  for  neglect  of  precious  time;  and  having  mis¬ 
used  so  much  of  mine  as  was  necessary  for  the  purpose,  I  therein  found 
that  a  play-man  is  brought  in  as  a  footman,  whom  a  knight  is  made  to  greet 
facetiously  with  the  epithet  of  ‘linen  stocking,  and  three  score  miles  a-day.’ 

Secundo,  which  is  secondly  in  the  vernacular*,  under  Mr.  Pattieson’s  favour, 
some  men  not  altogether  so  old  as  he  would  represent  them,  do  remember 
this  species  of  menial,  or  forerunner.  In  evidence  of  which,  I,  Jedediah 
Cleishbotham,  though  mine  eyes  yet  do  me  good  service,  remember  me  to 
have  seen  one  of  this  tribe  clothed  in  white,  and  bearing  a  staff,  who  ran 
daily  before  the  state-coach  of  the  umquhile  John  Earl  of  Hopeton,  father 
of  this  Earl,  Charles,  that  now  is  ;  unto  whom  it  may  be  justly  said,  that 
renown  playeth  the  part  of  a  running  footman,  or  precursor  ;  and,  as  the 
poet  singeth  — 

Mars  standing  by  asserts  his  quarrel, 

And  Fame  flies  after  with  a  laurel. 


Note  7.  —  Curing  by  Charms,  p.  299 

Reginald  Scott  tells  of  an  old  woman  who  performed  so  many  cures  by 
means  of  a  charm  that  she  was  suspected  of  witchcraft.  Her  mode  of 
practice  being  inquired  into,  it  was  found  that  the  only  fee  which  she  would 
accept  of  was  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  silver  penny  ;  and  that  the  potent  charm 
with  which  she  wrought  so  many  cures  was  the  doggerel  couplet  in  the  text. 


Note  8.  —  Duke’s  Walk,  p.  305 

A  walk  in  the  vicinity  of  Holyrood  House,  so  called,  because  often  fre¬ 
quented  by  the  Duke  of  York,  afterwards  James  II.,  during  his  residence 
in  Scotland.  It  was  for  a  long  time  the  usual  place  of  rendezvous  for  set¬ 
tling  affairs  of  honour. 


GLOSSARY 


OF 

WORDS,  PHRASES,  AND  ALLUSIONS 


Abeb,  alone 
Ableeze,  in  a  blaze 
Aboon,  abune,  above,  up 
Abou  Hassan.  See  The 
Arabian  Nights :  ‘  The 
Sleeper  Awakened  ’ 
Adjudication,  an  action 
for  seizing  upon  a  herit¬ 
able  estate  as  security 
for  a  debt  —  a  Scots  law 
term 

Ad  re-aedificandam  (p.  95), 
to  set  up  an  ancient  house 
again 
Ae,  one 

Aois,  to  act  as  may  be  neces¬ 
sary  and  legal  —  a  Scots 
law  term 

Ail,  to  interfere  with,  pre¬ 
vent 

Ain,  own 

Alrt,  to  direct,  turn  ;  a  point 
Aits,  oats ;  ait-cake,  oat¬ 
cake 

Aiver,  or  aver,  an  old 
broken- winded  horse 
Alexander,  a  tragedy  by 
Nathaniel  Lee,  very  popu¬ 
lar  in  the  early  part  of  the 
18th  century 
Allenarly,  solely,  alone 
Ance,  once 

Andrew  Ferrara,  a  High¬ 
land  broadsword 
Angus,  Earl  of,  presum- 
ably  Archibald,  sixth 
earl,  exiled  by  James  V. 
in  1528 

Aroint,  avaunt 
Ass,  ash 

Auld  Reekie,  Edinburgh 
Ava,  at  all 

Avant-courier,  a  fore¬ 
runner,  messenger  sent  on 
in  advance 
Awe,  to  owe 


Back-sey,  the  sirloin 
Backsword,  a  sword  with 
only  one  cutting  edge 
Bard  of  Hope,  Thomas 
Campbell,  author  of  Pleas¬ 
ures  of  Hope 

Bass,  a  conspicuous  mass  of 
rock  in  the  Firth  of  Forth, 
not  far  from  North  Berwick 
Bawbee,  a  halfpenny 
Bedesman,  an  alms-man,  one 
that  prays  for  another 
Bedral,  a  beadle,  sexton 
Beflumm,  to  befool,  cajole 
Bell  the  cat,  synonymous 
with  ‘  Beard  the  lion  in  his 
den.’  The  phrase  origi¬ 
nated  among  the  Scottish 
nobles  who  conspired  to 
ruin  James  III.  ’s  favourite, 
Cochran.  See  Scott’s  Tales 
of  a  Grandfather ,  chap, 
xxii. 

Bended,  cocked 
Bend-leather,  thick  leather 
for  boot  soles 

Berwick,  Duke  of.  James 
Fitz-James,  the  natural 
son  of  King  James  H.  of 
England,  was  made  a  mar¬ 
shal  of  France 

Bicker,  a  wooden  drinking- 
cup 

Bickering  (fire),  flickering, 
quivering 
Bide,  to  wait,  stay 
Biggonet,  a  linen  cap,  coif 
Birkie,  a  lively  little  fellow ; 
the  game  of  beggar-my- 
neighbour 

BiRLiNG.drinking  in  company 
Bit  and  the  buffet,  sus¬ 
tenance  with  hard  usage 
Blacka vised,  black-visaged 
Black-jack,  a  large  waxed 
pitcher  for  holding  ale 


Blackness,  a  castle,  and 
formerly  a  state  prison, 
situated  on  the  Firth  of 
Forth,  Linlithgowshire 
Blithe,  cheerful,  happy, 
pleased 

Bogle,  a  bogie,  ghost 
Bothwell  Brig.  See  Old 
Mortality ,  chaps,  xxxi.  and 
xxxii. 

Bouk,  a  body,  carcase,  bulk 
of  body 
Boul,  a  handle 
Bourock,  a  mound,  barrow, 
heap  of  earth  ;  a  miserable 
hut 

Brach,  a  hunting-hound 
Brae,  a  hill;  braeside,  a 
hillside 

Brander,  to  broil,  grill 
Braw,  brave,  fine 
Brawl,  a  French  dance, 
cotillion 

Brent,  straight  and  smooth 
Brewis,  the  scum  caused  by 
boiling 

Brewster,  a  brewer 
Bride  in,  taken  to  the  bridal 
chamber 

Broche,  a  roasting-spit 
Bruce  to  kill  a  spider,  an 
allusion  to  the  story  of 
Robert  Bruce  and  the 
spider 

Busk,  to  deck,  bind  up 

Cabage,  to  cut  off  a  deer’s 
head  behind  the  horns 
Cabrach,  or  Buck  of  Cab- 
rach,  a  mountain  near  the 
western  boundary  of  Aber¬ 
deenshire 

Cadgy,  cheerful,  sportive 
Caickling,  cackling, 
laughing 

Callant,  a  young  lad 


320 


GLOSSARY 


Campaign  on - .  See 

Spanish  generals 
Campvere,  or  Camphors,  a 
small  Dutch  town  on  the 
island  of  Walcheren,  where 
from  1444  to  1795  the  Scots 
had  a  privileged  trading 
factory 

Cannon-bit,  a  smooth  round 
bit  for  horses 

Canny,  careful,  shrewd, 
useful ;  (in  the  negative) 
peculiar,  possessed 
Cant abit  vacuus,  he  may 
sing  before  thieves  who 
has  empty  pockets  —  Juve¬ 
nal,  xi.  22 

Cantrips,  tricks,  spells,  in¬ 
cantations 

Canty,  cheerful,  merry 
Capot,  to  win  all  the  tricks 
in  picquet,  a  form  of  ex¬ 
clamation 

Carbonade,  to  broil,  grill 
Carcake,  a  small  cake  eaten 
on  Shrove  Tuesday 
Carle,  a  fellow 
Carline,  an  old  woman,  jade 
Cast  o’,  kind  of 
Castor,  a  fur  hat 
Caught  in  the  manner, 
caught  in  a  criminal  act 
Cauld  be  my  cast,  cold  be 
my  fate  or  lot 

Cavesson,  a  horse’s  nose¬ 
band 

Cedant  arma  tog.®,  let  arms 
give  place  to  the  insignia 
of  peace 

Chamber  of  dais,  the  best 
bedroom,  kept  for  guests 
of  consideration 
Change  a  leg.  In  the  old 
coaching  days  inside  pas¬ 
sengers  changed  legs  with 
the  consent  of  their  oppo¬ 
site  neighbour 
Change-house,  an  inn 
Chappin,  a  liquid  measure 
=  1  quart 

Chappit,  struck  (of  a  clock) 
Chateau  qui  parle,  etc.  (p. 
187),  when  a  fortress  par¬ 
leys  and  a  lady  listens,  both 
are  on  the  point  of  sur¬ 
rendering 

Chaumber,  a  chamber 
Cheek  of  the  chimney-nook, 
the  fireside,  chimney- 
corner 

Chield,  a  fellow 
Circus  of  Rome.  See  Green 
and  blue  chariots 
Clavering,  chattering, 
talkative 

Clavers,  idle  talk,  gossip 
Claver’se,  John  Grahame  of 
Claverhouse,  Viscount 
Dundee 


Claw  up  your  mittens,  to 
finish  youj  give  you  the 
coup  de  grace 
Clockin  hen,  a  sitting  hen 
Cockernony,  a  top-knot 
Cog,  to  empty  or  pour  out 
Cogging,  quibbling,  deceiv¬ 
ing,  cheating 

COLDINGHAME  ABBEY,  Or 
rather  Priory,  founded  by 
King  Edgar  in  the  last 
years  of  the  11th  century, 
a  few  miles  from  Eye¬ 
mouth,  on  the  coast  of 
Berwickshire 

Commonty,  right  of  pasture 
on  the  commons 
Compt  and  reckoning,  a 
Scots  law  process  enforc¬ 
ing  settlement  of  accounts 
Condictio  indebiti,  a  claim 
for  recovering  a  sum  that 
has  been  paid  when  it  was 
not  due 

Conscript  fathers,  the  title 
given  to  the  senators  of 
ancient  Rome 
Cookie,  a  Scotch  bun 
Copper  Captain,  a  coun¬ 
terfeit  captain.  See  Beau¬ 
mont  and  Fletcher’s  Rule 
a  Wife  and  have  a  Wife 
Cordery,  Mr.,  a  name  sug¬ 
gested  by  Corderius,  the 
teacher  of  Calvin,  and 
author  of  a  book  of  Latin 
dialogues  once  extensively 
used  in  schools 
Coupe-gorge,  cut-throat 
Couteau,  a  hunting-knife 
Cracks,  gossip,  boasting 
Crimp,  to  kidnap 
Critic,  a  play  by  Sheridan 
Crook,  a  chain  for  suspend¬ 
ing  a  pot  in  old  fireplaces 
C  R  o  w  d  y,  a  thick  pottage 
made  of  oatmeal 
Cuitle,  to  diddle,  get  by 
cheating 

Cul  de  lampe,  a  pictorial 
ornament,  tailpiece 
Cullion,  a  poltroon 
Cumbernauld,  the  seat  of 
the  ancient  family  of  Flem- 
ing  (Lord  Elphinstone), 
situated  15  miles  north-east 
of  Glasgow 

Cummer,  a  gossip  or  friend 
Cutty,  short 

Daffing,  frolicking,  larking, 
fun 

Daft,  crazy 

Dais.  See  Chamber  of  dais 
Dandilly,  noted  for  beauty 
Dang,  drove,  knocked 
Dead-deal,  the  board  on 
which  a  dead  body  is 
stretched 


Debitum  fundi,  a  real  bur¬ 
den  on  the  estate 
Deco  re,  to  decorate;  de- 
corements,  decorations 
Demele,  an  encounter,  al¬ 
tercation 

Demi-saker,  a  light  field- 
piece,  small  cannon 
Dentier,  more  dainty 
Diet-loaf,  a  sweet  cake 
Digito  m  o  n  s  t  r  a  r  i,  to  be 
pointed  at  with  the  finger 
Ding,  to  knock,  drive,  beat 
Dink,  trim,  neat 
Dirgie,  a  funeral  entertain¬ 
ment 

Dirk,  a  dagger 
Disna,  does  not 
Dispone  upon,  bestowed  upon 
Ditta y,  an  indictment, 
accusation 

Doited,  dotard,  stupid 
Don  Gayferos,  a  nephew  of 
the  chivalric  Roland,  and 
one  of  the  Twelve  Peers  of 
Charlemagne 
Donnart,  stupid 
Doo,  a  dove,  pigeon 
Dour,  stubborn 
Drap-de-Berry,  a  cloth  made 
at  Berri  in  France 
Dreigh,  slow,  lingering 
Dribble,  a  drop 
Drouthy,  dry 
Drucken,  drunk 
Drumlahrig,  the  ancient 
seat  of  the  Queensberry 
family  (now  belongs  to 
that  of  Buccleuch),  on  the 
Nith,  parish  of  Durisdeer, 
Dumfriesshire 

Dundee.  John  Grahame  of 
Claverhouse,  Viscount 
Dundee,  a  supporter  of 
the  Stuarts 

Dung,  knocked,  driven 
Dunsh,  to  nudge 
Dwining,  declining,  pining 
away 

Earth  (of  a  badger),  a  hole 
East  Lothian,  another  name 
for  Haddingtonshire 
Eatche,  adze 
Ebb,  shallow 

Eclaircissement,  ex¬ 
planation 

Ee,  an  eye  ;  een,  eyes 
Egeria,  the  nymph  who 
used  to  meet  King  Numa 
Pompilius  in  a  grove  near 
Rome 

Elbo’-jigger,  a  fiddler 
Elfland,  fairyland 
Eneuch,  enough 
Exies,  hysterics 
Expiry  of  the  legal,  the 
expiration  of  the  period 
in  which  an  estate  seized 


GLOSSARY 


321 


by  adjudication  ( q .  v.)  may 
be  redeemed 

Etas,  a  hawk  brought  up 
from  the  nest 

Factor,  a  steward 
Failzie,  to  fail 
Fash,  to  trouble 
Feckless,  feeble,  silly 
Fell,  terrible ;  a  hide,  skin 
Feuar,  a  Scotch  lease-holder; 
feu-rights,  absolute  rights 
of  property,  in  return  for 
the  payment  of  a  trifling 
sum  annually 

Fidus  Achates,  faithful  com¬ 
panion 
Fit,  the  foot 

Flam,  flan,  or  flawn,  a 
kind  of  custard 
Flankard,  the  side  of  the 
lower  part  of  the  abdomen 
Flightering,  transient 
Flisk,  a  caper,  whim 
Florentine,  a  kind  of  pie 
Flyte,  to  scold,  storm  in 
anger 
Fog,  moss 
Forbye,  besides 
Fordun,  John  of,  an  early 
Scottish  chronicler  of  the 
14th  century 

Forespeak,  to  bewitch, 
presage  evil  of 
Forgather,  to  come  together, 
meet  one  another 
Fou,  a  bushel 
Foul  thief,  the  devil 
Found,  to  go,  depend 
Foy,  an  entertainment  given 
by  friends  to  one  who  is 
about  to  leave  them  for 
good 

Fractious,  rebellious,  diffi¬ 
cult  to  deal  with 
Freit,  an  omen 
Fremd,  strange 
Frogs,  an  ornamental  fasten¬ 
ing  of  a  coat  or  mantle, 
generally  a  long  button 
and  a  loop 

Fugitation,  a  criminal’s 
fleeing  from  justice  —  a 
Scots  law  term 
Furnishes  (deer’s),  pre¬ 
sumably  droppings ;  hence 
track 

Gaberlunzie,  a  beggar, 
mendicant 
Gae,  to  go 
Gaisling,  a  gosling 
Galloway,  a  Scotch  cob, 
named  from  the  district  of 
Galloway  where  originally 
bred 

Gang,  to  go  ;  gane,  gone 
Gar,  to  make,  oblige 


Gate,  direction,  place,  way 
Gauger,  an  exciseman 
Gaunch,  a  snatch  with  the 
open  mouth,  bite 
Gawsie,  plump,  jolly 
Gear,  property 
Geizened,  leaky,  as  a  barrel 
kept  too  long  dry 
Georgius,  a  gold  George- 
noble  (  =  6s.  8d.),  time  of 
Henry  VIII.,  St.  George 
being  the  device  on  the 
obverse 
Gif,  if 

Gines  de  Passamonte.  See 
Don  Quixote,  pt.  ii.  chap, 
xxviii.,  and  pt.  i.  chap, 
xxii. 

Gird,  a  hoop 
Girn,  to  grin 

Glazen,  furnished  with  glass 
Gledging,  looking  askance 
Gleed,  a  spark,  flame 
Gleeing,  squinting 
Glent,  to  whisk,  flash 
Glower,  to  gaze,  stare 
Gob-box,  the  mouth 
Gowd,  gold 

Gowk,  a  fool ;  a  cuckoo 
Gowrie  Conspiracy,  a  mys¬ 
terious  attempt  to  assassi¬ 
nate  James  VI.  of  Scotland 
by  Lord  Ruthven  and  his 
brother,  the  Earl  of  Gowrie, 
in  1600 

Grahame  to  wear  green. 
The  Marquis  of  Montrose, 
a  Grahame,  was  driven  to 
execution  in  a  cart  of  green 
alder;  fulfilling  an  old 
prophecy  —  ‘  Visa  la  fin 
(Montrose’s  motto),  On 
an  ouler  (alder)  tree  green, 
Shall  by  many  be  seen  ’ 
Graith,  furniture 
Gravaminous,  serious,  im¬ 
portant 

Green  and  blue  chariots. 
In  the  reign  of  Justinian, 
emperor  of  the  Eastern 
Empire,  the  rivalries  of  the 
blue  and  green  charioteers, 
who  raced  in  the  circus  at 
Byzantium,  developed  into 
political  factions  powerful 
enough  to  seriously  disturb 
the  state 
Greet,  to  weep 
Greybeard,  a  stone  jar  for 
holding  ale  or  liquor 
Grogram,  a  coarse  textile 
fabric 

Grund-mail,  rent  for  the 
ground 

Gudeman,  the  head  of  the 
house,  the  husband 
Gudesire,  a  grandfather 
Gudewife,  a  wife,  as  head  of 
her  house,  landlady 


Guides,  managers,  guiders; 
guiding,  treating,  behav¬ 
ing  to 

Ousting  their  gabs,  tickling 
their  palates 

Guy  of  Warwick,  the  hero 
of  an  Early  English 
romance,  one  of  whose 
feats  was  to  overcome  a 
famous  Dun  Cow  on  Duns- 
more  Heath,  near  Warwick 

Hackstoun  of  Rathillet, 
a  fanatical  Cameronian, 
one  of  the  murderers  of 
Archbishop  Sharp  of  St. 
Andrews  in  1679 
Haggis,  a  Scotch  pudding  of 
minced  meat,  mixed  with 
oatmeal,  suet,  onions,  etc., 
boiled  in  a  skin  bag 
Haill  and  feir,  whole  and 
sound,  complete  and  entire 
Hale,  haill,  whole 
Half-fou,  half-bushel 
Hamilton,  on  the  Clyde, 
Lanarkshire,  the  principal 
seat  of  the  ducal  family  of 
Hamilton.  The  wild  cattle 
still  roam  through  the  ex¬ 
tensive  parks 
Harled,  dragged 
Hatted  kit,  a  bowl  of  sour 
or  curdled  cream 
Haud,  to  hold ;  haud  out,  to 
present  a  firearm 
Heather-cow,  a  twig  or  tuft 
of  heath 

Heezy,  a  hoist,  swing  up 
Heir  of  Linne,  this  old 
ballad  is  printed  in  Percy’s 
Reliques 

Hellicat,  devil-may-care 
Hell  is  paved,  etc.,  the 
phrase  is  due  to  Dr.  John¬ 
son  ;  the  idea  is  common 
to  several  writers;  cf. 
George  Herbert’s  Jacula 
Prudentium 

Henrietta  Maria,  queen- 
consort  of  Charles  I.,  and 
daughter  of  Henry  IV.  of 
France 

Hermit  sage  of  Johnson, 
Dr.  Johnson’s  parody  on 
a  poem  by  T.  Warton.  See 
Boswell’s  Life,  under  year 
1777 

Hope,  Bard  of,  Thomas 
Campbell,  author  of  Pleas¬ 
ures  of  Hope 
Hough,  a  thigh,  ham 
Housewifeskep,  housewifery 
How,  a  hollow 
Humlock,  a  hemlock 
Hyke  a  Talbot,  etc.  (p. 
90),  hunting  terms  and 
names  borrowed  from 
Dame  Juliana  Berners ’s 


322 


GLOSSARY 


Treatise  of  Hawking , 
Hunting ,  etc.  (1486)  — 
Book  of  St.  Alban's 

Ilka,  each,  every 
Ilka  land  its  ain  lauch, 
every  place  its  own  (law) 
customs 

Ill-cleckit,  ill-hatched 
Ill-deedy  gett,  mischievous 
urchin 

In  foro  contentioso,  in  the 
law  courts 
Ingan,  an  onion 
Inimicus  amicissimits,  an 
enemy  is  (sometimes)  the 
best  of  friends 
Inlake,  a  breach,  loss,  death 
Inter  minores,  between 
minors 

In  terrorem,  as  a  warning 
to  others 

Irish  brigade,  a  body  of 
troops  in  the  pay  of  the 
French  King 
Ither,  other 

Jacobus,  a  gold  coin  =  25s., 
first  issued  by  James  I.  of 
England 

Jess,  a  leathern  strap  fixed 
round  a  hawk’s  leg 
Joe,  a  sweetheart,  darling 
John  Churchill,  the  great 
soldier,  the  Duke  of  Marl¬ 
borough  of  Anne’s  reign 
Johnny  New-come,  a  new¬ 
comer,  upstart 
Jow,  a  toll 

Kail,  broth;  kail-yard,  a 
cabbage  garden 
Kain,  a  tribute  in  kind,  as  of 
poultry,  eggs,  cheese,  etc., 
from  tenant  to  landlord 
Kaiser,  the  Emperor  of 
Germany 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese 
Keekit,  peeped 
Keep  her  threep,  keep  her 
resolution 

Kelpie,  a  water-spirit 
Ken,  to  know 

Kens  pec  kle,  conspicuous, 
easily  recognised 
Kimmer,  a  gossip,  friend 
Kindly  aid,  a  contribution 
in  kind  payable  to  the 
landlord  by  the  tenant 
Kippage,  a  rage,  dilemma 
Kipper,  a  dried  salmon 
Kist,  a  chest,  coffin 
Kittle,  to  tickle  ;  ticklish 
Knowe,  a  knoll,  eminence 

Lammer,  amber 
Lammer  Law,  one  of  the 
Lammermoor  hills,  8  miles 
south  of  Haddington 


L’Amphitbion  ou  l’on  dine, 
the  man  who  really  pays  for 
the  dinner.  See  Plautus, 
Amphitruo 

Landward,  in  the  country, 
rural  ■ 

Late-wake,  the  watch  over 
a  dead  body 
Lauch,  law,  customs 
Launder,  to  do  laundry  work 
Lawing,  a  bill,  reckoning 
Law’s  scheme,  a  company 
formed  in  1717  by  John 
Law  (of  Lauriston,  near 
Edinburgh)  for  developing 
the  resources  of  Louisiana 
and  the  Mississippi  valley, 
which  at  that  time  be¬ 
longed  to  France 
Lee,  Nathaniel,  dramatist, 
went  insane  through  drink, 
wrote  The  Rival  Queens ; 
or ,  Alexander  the  Great 
(1677),  and  other  plays 
Leg,  change  a.  See  Change 
a  leg 

Lift,  the  sky ;  to  carry  off 
Links,  sandy  flat  ground  on 
sea-coast,  dunes 
Lippen,  to  trust 
Lippening  word,  occasional, 
thoughtless  word 
Lith,  a  joint 
Loon,  a  fellow 
Loot,  allowed,  permitted 
Loupen,  leaped 
Lowe,  a  flame,  fire 
Luckie,  mother,  a  title  given 
to  old  dames 

Luitur  cum  persona,  etc. 
(p.  51),  he  pays  with  his 
person  who  cannot  pay  with 
his  purse 
Lum,  a  chimney 
L’um  n’empeche,  etc.  (p. 
103,  the  one  is  no  hindrance 
to  the  other 
Lungies,  loins 
Lurdane,  a  blockhead 

Mail,  tax,  rent 
Mailing,  a  small  farm 
Main,  a  hand  at  dice,  match 
at  cock-fighting 
Mair,  maist,  more,  most 
Maitre  d’armes,  swords¬ 
man,  fencing-master 
Malleus  Malificarum  (nine 
editions  before  1496),  by 
Kramer  and  Sprenger,  de- 
scribingthe  processes 
against  witches 
Manse,  a  parsonage 
Maun,  must 
Maut,  malt 
Meal-poke,  a  meal-bag 
Met.ter,  a  herring  full  of 
milt 

!Mephibosheth,  a  char¬ 


acter  in  Dryden’s  Absalom 
and  Achitophel 
Merk  =  Is.  l§d. 

Merse,  Berwickshire 
Messan,  a  cur 

Metall’d  (lads),  mettled, 
full  of  spirit 

Mile,  Scottish,  nearly  nine 
furlongs 

Mill,  or  mull,  a  snuff-box 
Miranda,  the  heroine  of 
Shakespeare’s  Tempest 
Mirk,  dark 

Misgie,  to  go  wrong,  fail 
Mittens.  See  Claw  up  your 
mittens 

Mon  Dieu  !  il  y  en  a  deux, 
Good  Heavens!  there  are 
two  of  them 

Montero  cap,  a  horseman’s 
or  huntsman’s  cap  with 
ear-flaps 

Morland,  George,  a  clever 
English  painter,  but  a  man 
of  dissipated  habits,  who 
died  in  1804 
Moss,  a  morass,  marsh 
Mountain-man,  a  Camero- 
nian,  strictest  sect  of 
Covenanters 

Mr.  Puff,  a  character  in 
Sheridan’s  Critic 
Muckle,  much 
Mull,  a  snuff-horn 
Multiplepoinding,  a  Scots 
law  process,  the  English 
interpleader,  for  settling 
competing  claims  to  one 
and  the  same  fund 
Murgeons,  mouths,  grimaces 

Nae,  naebody,  naething,  no, 
nobody,  nothing 
Nar,  never 

Neque  dives,  neque,  etc. 
(p.  141),  No  Scotchman 
of  merit,  be  he  rich,  brave, 
or  even  wise,  will  be  able 
to  remain  long  in  his 
country.  Envy  will  drive 
him  out 

Neuk,  nook,  corner 
Nombles,  or  numbles,  the 
entrails  of  a  deer 
Northampton,  Earl  of. 
Henry  Howard,  younger 
brother  of  Thomas,  fourth 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  born 
1540,  was  prominent  dur¬ 
ing  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  James  I. 

North  Berwick  Law,  a  coni¬ 
cal  hill  near  North  Berwick 
Nouriceship,  the  office  of 
nurse 

Nowt,  black  cattle 
Numa,  the  second  of  the 
legendary  kings  of  ancient 
Rome 


GLOSSARY 


323 


Nttpta;  Domcm  Ducta  ; 
Obht  ;  Sepult.  ;  wedded ; 
taken  home ;  died ;  buried 

Offcome,  an  apology,  excuse 
Orange,  Prince  of.  See 
Spanish  generals 
Out-bye,  from  home 
Overcrow,  to  overpower, 
triumph  over 
Owerlook,  to  ignore 
Oxter,  the  armpit 

Pacolet,  a  dwarf,  owner  of  a 
winged  horse,  in  the  legend 
of  Valentine  and  Orson 
Painting.  See  Serene  and 
silent  art 

Pand,  a  pledge;  a  bed- 
curtain 

Parochine,  a  parish 
Parve,  nec  invideo,  e  t  c. 
(p.  2),  Thou  art  about  to 
go,  but  alone,  into  the 
busy  city,  my  little  book 
— I  grudge  thee  not  thy 
lot 

Pas  d’a vance,  the  lead,  pre¬ 
cedence 

Patria  potestas,  paternal 
authority 
Pearlings,  lace 
Peat,  a  person  of  insuffer¬ 
able  pride 

Pegh,  to  pant,  breathe  hard 
Petticoat-tail,  a  kind  of 
cake  baked  with  butter 
Petty  cover,  for  petit 
convert,  a  meal  not  eaten 
in  ceremonious  state 
Pew,  the  plaintive  cry  of 
certain  birds ;  couldna 
HAE  PLAYED  PEW,  COuld 
not  have  drawn  a  note  from 
Pickle,  a  small  quantity 
Pick-maw,  a  species  of  gull 
Pig,  a  stoneware  vessel, 
pitcher 

Pine,  to  pain,  punish 
Pinnywinkles,  an  instru¬ 
ment  of  torture  consisting 
of  a  board  with  holes,  into 
which  the  fingers  were 
thrust  and  pressed  with 
screw-pegs 

Pint,  Scotch  =  3  English 
pints 

Pique,  repique,  and  capot, 
terms  used  in  the  game  of 
picquet 
Pirn,  a  reel 

Pit-mirk,  as  dark  as  pitch 
Pize,  a  term  of  mild  exe¬ 
cration 

Placebo,  a  sop 
Place,  a  small  copper  coin 
=  ad  penny 
Pliskie,  a  prank,  trick 
Ploy,  a  merry-making 


Plumdamas,  for  prune  de 
dam  as,  a  damask  plum, 
i.  e.  a  damson  (tart) 
Pock-pudding,  a  Scotchman’s 
contemptuous  name  for  an 
Englishman 

Point,  quint,  and  quatorze, 
terms  used  in  the  game  of 
picquet 

Point  d’appui,  a  support 
Point  d’Espagne,  a  sort  of 
French  lace  esteemed  in 
Spain  in  the  17th  century 
Poke,  a  bag 

Posso,  in  Mannor  Water,  in 
Peebleshire 

Pouthered,  corned,  slightly 
salted 

Prester  John,  legendary 
King  of  Abyssinia 
Pretty  man,  a  brave  man, 
athletic  and  skilled  in  the 
use  of  his  weapons 
Propine,  a  gift 
Pund  Scots  =  Is.  8d.  sterling 
Pyke,  pick 

Quaigh,  a  drinking-cup  of 
hooped  staves,  ornamented 
with  silver.  It  held  about 
a  pint,  and  was  chiefly 
used  for  wine  and  brandy 
Quarter’s  length,  a  quarter 
of  a  yard 

Quean,  a  sprightly  young 
woman,  flirt 

Rae,  a  roe-deer 
Railly,  or  rail,  a  kind  of 
cloak  or  kerchief  for  the 
neck  and  head 
Raven-bone,  the  spoon-bone 
of  the  brisket,  thrown  by 
hunters  to  the  ravens,  in 
cutting  up  the  stag 
Reaving,  thieving 
Redd,  to  clear,  tidy 
Red  wud,  downright  mad 
Reek,  smoke 
Reested,  smoke-dried 
Remigius,  N  icol  aus,  or 
Nicholas  of  Remy,  author 
of  a  work  on  witchcraft 
(1595) 

Reponed,  used  as  a  reply 
Reverence,  bacon  with, 
bacon  with  its  garnisliings 
or  belongings 

Rifler,  a  hawk  that  does 
not  return  to  the  lure 
Ring-walk,  the  track  of  a 
stag 

Roar  you  an  ’twere  any 
nightingale.  See  Mid¬ 
summer  Night's  Dream, 
Act.  i.  Sc.  2 
Round,  to  whisper 
Roup,  an  auction 
Rudas,  a  scolding  jade 


Runlet,  a  barrel,  holding 
18J  gallons 

Sae,  so 

St.  Clair  to  cross  the  Ord 
on  a  Monday.  The  Earl 
of  Orkney,  chief  of  the 
Sinclairs  or  St.  Clairs,  led 
his  men  on  a  Monday  over 
Ord  Hill  on  the  way  to 
Flodden,  where  they  all 
perished  to  a  man 
Saint  Germains,  near  Paris, 
where  James  II.  held  court 
during  his  exile 
St.  Margaret,  niece  of 
Edward  the  Confessor  and 
wife  of  Malcolm  Canmore ; 
her  day  is  June  10th 
Sair,  sore 
Samyn,  same 
Sant,  a  saint 

Saraband,  a  Spanish  dance 
Sark,  a  shirt 
Saul,  soul 
Saumon,  a  salmon 
Saut,  salt 
Scart,  a  scratch 
Scaud,  to  scald 
Sclate,  a  slate ;  sclater,  a 
slater 

Scotch  pint  =  3  English  pints 
Scottish  mile,  nearly  nine 
furlongs 

Scraugh,  a  screech,  loud, 
discordant  cry 
Screigh,  to  shriek,  scream 
Scunner,  to  loathe,  shudder 
with  aversion 

Serene  and  silent  art 
(painting).  See  Camp¬ 
bell’s  Stanzas  to  Painting 
Sets,  becomes,  suits 
Seven  sleepers,  martyrs  of 
Ephesus,  who,  according 
to  the  legend,  slept  in  a 
cave  from  the  reign  of  the 
Emperor  Decius  to  that  of 
Theodosius  II.,  a  period 
of  196  years 

Seven  wise  masters,  the 
seven  sages  of  ancient 
Greece 

Shaughle,  to  wear  down, 
shuffle 

Shins  to  pine  (punish),  e.  g. 

the  torture  of  the  boot 
Shot  of,  to  be,  to  get  quit  of 
Shovel-board,  a  game  in 
which  the  players  strive  to 
shove  or  drive  coins  or 
counters  on  to  certain 
marks,  lines,  or  squares  on 
the  table 
Sic,  siccan,  such 
Singles,  the  talons  of  a  hawk 
Sir  Evan  Dhu,  Sir  Evan 
Cameron  of  Lochiel,  a 
famous  Highland  chief, 


324 


GLOSSARY 


and  supporter  of  the 
Stuarts,  fought  at  Killie- 
crankie  in  1689 
Sm  Joshua,  i.  e.  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  the  painter 
Skioch  doch  na  skiaill,  cut  a 
drink  with  a  tale,  i.  e.  Don’t 
preach  over  your  liquor 
Skirl,  to  scream 
Sliddery,  slippery 
Sloken,  to  slake,  quench 
Snap,  a  small  gingerbread 
Sneckdrawing,  cunning; 
sneckdrawer,  an  artful, 
cunning  person 
Snishing,  sneeshin,  snee- 
shing,  snuff 
Soopit,  swept 
Soothfast,  trusty,  honest 
Sopite,  to  settle,  set  at  rest 
Sort,  to  supply,  suit ;  to  give 
a  drubbing 

Sough,  a  rumour,  whisper; 
soughed,  softly  breathed, 
whispered 

Soup,  a  sup ;  mouthful 
Souple,  a  cudgel 
Bowens,  a  kind  of  gruel  made 
from  the  soured  siftings  of 
oatmeal 

Spae,  to  foretell 
Spanish  generals  and 
Prince  of  Orange.  Wil¬ 
liam  of  Orange  commanded 
20,000  Spaniards  in  the 
campaign  against  France, 
1554-57 

Speer,  to  ask,  invite,  inquire 
Sprengerus.  Jacob  Spren- 
ger,  joint  author  of  Mal¬ 
leus  Malificarum 
Spule-bane,  the  shoulder- 
blade 

Spunk,  a  spark,  match 
Spurs,  dish  of.  Scott’s 
ancestress,  the  Flower  of 
Yarrow,  is  said  to  have 
reminded  her  lord,  Auld 
Wat  of  Harden,  a  cele¬ 
brated  Border  raider,  that 
the  larder  was  empty,  by 
placing  on  the  table  a  dish 
containing  a  pair  of  clean 
spurs  —  a  hint  to  ride  into 
England.  See  Lockhart’s 
Life ,  vol.  i.  p.  93 
Steading,  a  farm,  farm-yard 
Steer,  to  disturb 
Stickit,  imperfect,  broken 
down 

Stoup,  a  liquid  measure 
Stouthrief,  robbery  with 
violence 
Strae,  straw 

Straught,  to  stretch,  make 
straight 

Streik,  to  stretch,  lay  out 
Sub  Jove  frigido,  in  the 
open  air 


Suburb,  outlying  (district, 
place) 

Sumph,  a  blockhead,  dunce 
Sune,  soon 
Surbated,  foot-sore 
Suum  cuique  tribuito,  give 
to  each  his  own 
Swanking,  active,  agile 
Swap,  a  barter,  exchange ; 

to  strike  soundly 
Swauk,  a  swack,  thwack, 
violent  blow 
Swire,  a  mountain  pass 
Sybo,  a  young  onion 
Sycorax,  a  witch,  the  mother 
of  Caliban,  in  Shake¬ 
speare’s  Tempest 
Synd,  to  rinse 
Syne,  since,  ago 


Tack,  a  lease,  possession 
Taid,  a  toad 
Tait,  a  bunch,  handful 
Take  one’s  gait,  to  go  one’s 
own  way 

Tap  of  tow,  bunch  of  tow  on 
the  distaff,  that  readily 
catches  fire 
Tabs,  a  glass 
Tauridor,  a  bull-fighter 
Teind,  a  tithe 
Tenony,  stringy,  sinewy 
Teugh, tough 

Thickset,  a  kind  of  fustian, 
resembling  velveteen  in 
appearance 

Thomas  the  R  h  y  m  e  r,  of 
Ercildoune  (Earlston)  in 
Berwickshire,  an  ancient 
Scottish  poet  and  prophet, 
and  a  favourite  legendary 
hero 

‘Thou  sweetest  thing,’  etc. 
(p.  191),  from  Joanna 
Baillie’s  Covstantine  Pa- 
Iceologus,  Act  ii.  Sc.  2 
Thowless,  inactive,  remiss 
Thraw,  to  twist  itself,  dis¬ 
tort  itself ;  a  twist 
Threep,  keep  her.  See  Keep 
her  threep 

Through-stane,  theuch- 
stane,  a  flat  gravestone 
Timmer,  timber;  Timmer 
burse,  the  exchange  of  the 
timber-merchants 
Tippence,  twopence 
Tocher-good,  dowry 
Tod,  a  fox 

Tod’s  Den,  also  called  in 
other  passages  Tod’s  Hole, 
and  stated  to  be  5  to  6 
miles  from  Wolf’s  Crag1 

1  A  few  other  irregularities  of  a  simi¬ 
lar  kind  occur  in  this  novel :  as  Lad; 
Ashton  is  called  Margaret  and  Eleanor  ; 
Girder,  John  and  Gibbie;  the  sexton, 
Morteheugh  and  Mortheuoh. 


Tokay,  a  fiery  Hungarian 
wine 

Tolbooth,  a  gaol 
Tongue  of  the  trump,  the 
part  of  a  jew’s-harp  that 
makes  the  sound;  hence 
the  essential  or  principal 
person  concerned 
Tout,  the  pet;  a  fit  of  ill- 
temper 

Traprain,  or  Traprain 
Law,  a  conspicuous  con¬ 
ical  hill  4  miles  east  of 
Haddington 

Tredrille,  a  game  of 
cards  played  by  three 
persons 

Tristrem,  Sir,  a  knight  of 
the  Round  Table,  famous 
in  the  chase 
Twa,  two 

Twal,  twelve ;  twal  pennies 
Scotch  ~  one  penny  of 
English  money 
Twilt,  a  quilted  bed-cover 

Umquhile,  deceased,  late 
Una,  the  heroine  of  Spenser’s 
Faerie  Queene 
Unco,  uncommon 

Vaik,  to  be  vacant 
Versailles,  the  court  of 
Louis  XIV.  of  France 
Via  facti,  by  force 
Virginals,  an  old  sort  of 
piano 

Visie,  an  inspection 
Visnomy,  physiognomy,  face, 
features 
Vivers,  victuals 

Wadset,  a  mortgage,  pledge; 
wadsetter,  a  usurer, 
mortgager 

Wae,  woe;  woeful,  sorry 
Wame,  belly 
Wap,  a  smart  stroke 
Ware,  to  spend,  bestow 
Warlock,  a  witch 
Wastland,  west  country 
Wat,  to  wet 

Wate r-p u r p i e,  the  brook 
lime  or  horsewell  grass 
Waur,  worse 

Wean,  aninfant,  small 
child 

Weid,  a  feverish  cold 
Wh ample,  a  blow 
Wheen,  a  few 
Whigmaleeries,  fancy  toys 
Whiles,  now  and  again 
Whim-wham,  fancy  pastry 
Whin-bush,  a  furze  bush 
Whinstane,  greenstone, 
ragstone 

White-hass,  a  meat 
pudding 


GLOSSARY 


325 


Whomling,  turning  upside 
down 

Wull  a  wins,  woe’s  me, 
well-a-day 

Will  to  Cupar  maun  to 
Cupar,  a  wilful  man  must 
have  his  way 


Win,  to  make  way,  get 
Wind  him  a  pirn,  to  cause 
him  trouble,  annoyance 
Withie,  the  gallows,  a 
halter 

Won  into,  made  way  into 
Woodie,  the  gallows 


Wud,  mad 

Wyte,  blame, responsi¬ 
bility 

Yestreen,  yesternight 
Yill,  ale 

Yowl,  to  yell,  give  tongue 


INDEX 


Alice,  Old,  31,  34;  visited  by  Sir  W.  Ash¬ 
ton  and  Lucy,  35 ;  by  Lucy  and  Ravens- 
wood,  173  ;  warns  Ravenswood,  176  ;  her 
death,  219 ;  laid  out  by  the  old  women, 
221 

Armitage  churchyard,  224,  225 

Ashton,  Colonel  Sholto  Douglas,  28 ;  resents 
Ravenswood’s  intrusion,  289 ;  opens  the 
door  of  bridal  chamber,  302;  challenges 
Ravenswood  at  the  funeral,  308;  waits 
for  Ravenswood,  312 

Ashton,  Henry,  27 ;  his  terror  at  Ravens¬ 
wood,  167 ;  shoots  the  raven,  184 ;  begs 
ribbon  and  wire  from  Lucy,  270 ;  dis¬ 
tresses  Lucy,  275 ;  his  pleasure  in  his  new 
clothes,  285  ;  rides  to  the  wedding,  298 

Ashton,  Lady,  17  ;  her  matrimonial  views 
for  Lucy,  197  ;  her  gracious  reception  of 
Craigengelt,  202  ;  her  carriage  races  with 

the  Marquis  of  A - ’s,  207 ;  vents  her 

resentment  against  Sir  William,  210;  bids 
Ravenswood  leave  the  castle,  212;  her 
reply  to  Ravenswood’s  letter,  257 ;  man¬ 
ages  Bucklaw’s  interview  with  Lucy,  265 ; 
persecutes  Lucy,  273 ;  signs  the  marriage 
articles,  286;  adduces  Scripture  against 
Ravenswood,  292 ;  her  subsequent  history, 
313 

Ashton,  Lucy,  26 ;  takes  her  father  to  Old 
Alice,  33 ;  rescued  from  the  wild  bull,  41 ; 
makes  an  impression  on  Ravenswood,  47  ; 
at  the  hunt,  91, 96  ;  finds  shelter  at  Wolf’s 
Crag,  96 ;  her  terror  at  the  storm,  106  ; 
manner  towards  Ravenswood,  156 ;  guides 
him  to  Old  Alice,  173 ;  betrothes  herself  to 
Ravenswood,  182 ;  her  relations  with  him, 
190 ;  her  letter  to  Ravenswood,  259 ;  her 
interview  with  Bucklaw,  266 ;  her  trials 
and  distresses,  272 ;  put  under  Ailsie 
Gourlay’s  care,  277 ;  subjected  to  Bide- 
the-Bent’s  influence,  281 ;  signs  the  mar¬ 
riage  articles,  286 ;  meets  Ravenswood’s 
challenge,  292 ;  on  her  wedding  morning, 
297 ;  discovered  a  maniac,  303 ;  "her  burial, 
306  ’ 

Ashton,  Sir  William,  15;  informed  of  the 
tumult  at  Lord  Ravenswood’s  funeral, 
23 ;  his  reflections  thereon,  24 ;  and  his 
daughter,  29;  visits  Old  Alice,  33;  en¬ 


counters  Ravenswood,  46;  tones  down 
his  report  of  the  tumult,  49;  accosts 
Ravenswood  at  the  hunt,  93 ;  asks  shel¬ 
ter  at  Wolf’s  Crag,  96;  his  conciliatory 
bearing,  104,  112,  133;  strives  to  disarm 
Ravenswood’s  enmity,  136,  147 ;  sounded 
by  Marquis  of  A - ’s  agent,  139 ;  recon¬ 

ciled  to  Ravenswood,  154 ;  his  attention 
to  domestic  matters,  189 ;  awaiting  the 

Marquis  of  A - ’s  arrival,  203 ;  rated  by 

Lady  Ashton,  210;  threatened  with  an 
appeal  to  the  House  of  Peers,  256,  272; 
his  letter  to  Ravenswood,  258 ;  signs  the 
marriage  articles,  286 
Author,  his  Introduction,  ix 

Babie,  Alice’s  attendant,  35 
Balderstone,  Caleb,  roused  by  Ravenswood 
and  Bucklaw,  67  ;  his  subterfuges,  69,  73, 
97,  108,  150,  246 ;  collects  the  driblets  of 
claret,  73 ;  uncovers  the  herrings,  84 ; 
begs  Ravenswood  to  invite  no  more 
guests,  88 ;  shuts  out  the  grooms,  99 ; 
refuses  to  admit  Bucklaw,  101 ;  an¬ 
nounces  the  disaster  to  the  dinner,  108 ; 
his  relations  with  Wolf’s  Hope,  114;  his 
requisitions  opposed,  116 ;  enters  Girder’s 
cottage,  120 ;  carx-ies  off  the  wild-fowl, 
124 ;  propitiated  by  Girder,  130  ;  warns 
Ravenswood  against  the  Ashtons,  160; 
forces  money  on  him,  163  ;  reports  Wolf’s 
Crag  to  be  burning,  239 ;  thanked  by  the 
Girders,  241 ;  tells  the  truth  about  the 
fire,  245;  his  anxiety  about  his  master, 
309 ;  last  entreaty  to  him,  311 ;  picks  up 
the  feather,  312 ;  his  last  days,  313 
Ballantyne,  James  and  John,  316 
Bide-the-Bent,  Rev.  Mr.,  at  Girder’s,  126; 
employed  to  influence  Lucy,  281;  his 
prayer,  286  ;  tries  to  preserve  peace,  291 ; 
reads  the  texts,  293 
Birnie,  Patie,  fiddler,  230 
Bittlebrains,  Lord,  his  hounds,  86 ;  receives 
the  Ashtons  and  Ravenswood,  165 
Blenkensop,  Lady,  197. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor.  See  Dalrymple 
family  and  Ashton,  Lucy 
Bride  of  Lammermoor ,  the  novel,  Author’s 
Introduction  to,  ix 


INDEX 


S27 


Buchanan,  George,  jester,  316 
Bucklaw,  at  Tod’s  Den,  53;  fights  with 
Ravenswood,  62;  takes  refuge  at  Wolf’s 
Crag,  64;  complains  of  his  lodging,  76; 
sets  off  for  the  hunt,  87  ;  cuts  up  the 
stag,  92 ;  refused  admittance  by  Caleb, 
101 ;  becomes  Laird  of  Girnington,  192  ; 
sends  Craigengelt  to  Lady  Ashton,  199 ; 
discusses  his  own  marriage,  261 ;  his 
interview  with  Lucy,  266 ;  signs  the 
marriage  articles,  286;  resents  Ravens- 
wood’s  intrusion,  289 ;  discovered  in  his 
blood,  302 ;  his  declaration  of  silence,  305 
Burial,  Scottish,  19,  306;  laying  out  of  a 
corpse,  221 


Cattle,  wild,  39 
Charms,  curing  by,  299,  320 
Chiesley  of  Dairy,  38,  315 
Coldinghame,  Abbey  of,  224 
Craigengelt,  Captain,  at  Tod’s  Den,  53  ;  his 
Jacobite  intrigues,  54  ;  turns  up  at  Wolf’s 
Hope,  101  ;  carries  Bucklaw’s  challenge 
to  Wolf’s  Crag,  150 ;  becomes  Bucklaw’s 
factotum,  192  ;  his  matrimonial  scheming, 
196 ;  goes  as  Bucklaw’s  emissary  to  Lady 
Ashton,  201 ;  arrives  at  Ravenswood 
Castle  with  Lady  Ashton,  210 ;  discusses 
Bucklaw’s  marriage,  261 ;  signs  the  mar¬ 
riage  articles,  286;  spurned  by  Ravens¬ 
wood,  295 

Dais,  chamber  of,  252 

Dalrymple  family,  connection  with  the 
novel,  ix,  315 

Dingwall,  Davie,  the  writer,  116 
Duke’s  Walk,  Edinburgh,  305,  320 
Dunbar  of  Baldoon,  x 


Fast  Castle,  xviii 
Footmen,  running,  204,  319 
Funeral,  Scottish,  19,  306 


Girder,  Gibbie,  119 ;  his  indignation  against 
Caleb,  126;  sends  sack  and  brandy  after 
him,  130 ;  his  gratitude  to  Caleb,  241 ; 

entertains  Marquis  of  A - ,  249 

Girder,  Mrs.,  121,  126,  241 
Girnington,  Lady,  54 
Glossary,  321 

Gourlay,  Ailsie,  at  Old  Alice’s,  221 ;  nurses 
Lucy,  277 ;  prophesies  evil  at  her  wed¬ 
ding,  299 ;  at  her  funeral,  307 


Hamilton,  Sir  William,  of  Whitelaw,  xiii 
Hayston,  Frank.  See  Bucklaw 
Hospitality,  ancient,  135,  317 


Justice,  administration  of,  in  Scotland,  16 


Kelpie’s  Flow,  Caleb’s  ’warning,  161 ;  en¬ 
gulfs  Ravenswood,  312 


Law’s  Memorials ,  quoted,  xiii 
Lightbody,  Luckie,  120 ;  beards  Gibbie 
Girder,  127 ;  entertains  Marquis  of 
A - ,  249 

Lockhard,  offers  Ravenswood  his  horse,  89 ; 

at  Wolf’s  Crag,  101,  110 
Lockhart,  Sir  George,  38,  315 
1  Look  not  thou  on  beauty’s  charming,’  26 
Lord  Keeper.  See  Ashton,  Sir  William 
Loup-the-Dyke,  Dame.  See  Lightbody, 
Luckie 

Maggie,  the  paralytic  hag,  at  Old  Alice’s, 
221 ;  at  Lucy’s  wedding,  298 ;  at  her 
funeral,  306 

Marquis  of  A - ,  80 ;  his  letter  to  Ravens¬ 

wood,  81 ;  sounds  Sir  W.  Ashton,  139 ; 
racing  of  his  carriage,  207  ;  interview  with 
Lady  Ashton,  214 ;  counsels  Ravenswood, 
231 ;  entertained  at  Gibbie  Girder’s,  249 ; 
succeeds  to  power,  255 
Mermaiden’s  Fountain,  legend  of,  42 ; 

betrothal  at,  182 ;  apparition  there,  217 
Middleton’s  Mad  World ,  318 
Mortsheugh,  the  sexton,  223 ;  interview 
with  Ravenswood,  225 ;  at  Lucy’s  wed¬ 
ding,  298 

Mysie,  Caleb’s  helper,  68,  71,  113;  her 
supposed  danger,  240 

Norman,  the  forester,  29  ;  quoted  by  Henry 
Ashton,  185 

Painting  and  poetry,  10 
Parliament,  appeal  to,  143,  149,  272,  318 
Pattieson,  Peter,  his  Introduction,  1 
Poor-man-of-mutton,  318 
Privy  council,  Scottish,  51 

Ravenswood,  Lord  Allan,  14 ;  funeral  of,  19 
Ravenswood,  Malise  de,  25  ;  his  picture,  170, 
301 

Ravenswood,  Master  of,  at  his  father’s 
funeral,  20 ;  rescues  Lucy,  41 ;  declares 
himself  to  Sir  W.  Ashton,  46  ;  visits  Tod’s 
Den,  58 ;  fights  with  Bucklaw,  62 ;  lodges 
him  in  Wolf’s  Crag,  64 ;  his  thoughts  of 
Lucy,  78 ;  accosted  by  Sir  W.  Ashton  at 
the  hunt,  93 ;  shelters  him  and  Lucy  in 
Wolf’s  Crag,  96 ;  begged  by  Sir  W.  Ashton 
to  put  away  his  enmity,  136,  149,  154 ; 
contempt  for  Craigengelt,  152 ;  warned 
by  Caleb,  160 ;  visits  Ravenswood,  165 ; 
accompanies  Lucy  to  Old  Alice’s,  173; 
joins  Lucy  at  the  fountain,  179;  his 
betrothal,  182 ;  his  relations  with  Lucy, 
190 ;  bidden  leave  Ravenswood  Castle, 
213;  sees  the  apparition,  217;  finds  Old 
Alice  dead,  219  ;  overhears  the  hags,  221 ; 
interview  with  Mortsheugh,  225 ;  coun¬ 
selled  by  Marquis  of  A - ,  231 ;  is  told 

the  truth  about  the  fire,  245  ;  entertained 
at  Girder’s,  249 ;  letters  to  the  Ashtons, 
256 ;  Lucy’s  reply,  259 ;  interrupts  the 
betrothal,  288;  upbraids  Lucy,  293;  at 
her  funeral,  308 ;  dismisses  Caleb,  311 ; 
engulfed  in  the  Kelpie’s  Flow,  312 


328 


INDEX 


Ravenswood  Castle,  14,  23 ;  saloon  at,  166 ; 

terrace  before,  203 
Running  footmen,  204,  319 
Rutherford,  Lord,  x 


Stair  family,  connection  with  the  novel,  ix, 
315 ;  satiric  verses  on,  xiii 
Symson,  Andrew,  of  Kirkinner,  verses  by, 
xiv 

‘The  monk  must  rise,’  31 
‘Thou  sweetest  thing,’  191 
Tinto,  Dick,  his  history,  2 
Tod’s  Den,  or  Hole,  53 


Trumpeter  Marine,  228,  319 
Turntippet,  Lord,  51  ;  compelled  to  dis¬ 
gorge,  255 

Wallace  Inn,  Gandercleugh,  5 
‘  When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood,’  161 
Wild  cattle,  39 

Winnie,  Annie,  at  Old  Alice’s,  221 ;  at 
Lucy’s  wedding,  298 ;  at  her  funeral, 
306 

Wolf’s  Crag,  identification  of,  xviii;  de¬ 
scription  of,  66 ;  banqueting-hall,  70 ; 
reported  burning  of,  239 
Wolf’s  Hope,  115;  Caleb’s  requisitions  on, 
116 


/ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ULINOIS-UBBAHA 
TH3ESBRI0BEB0  FLAMMER  MO  0  S°  N  V 


30112013032484 


